Hearts Of Wire
by Troublebones
Summary: Santana Lopez is awkward at best and clumsy at worst. Brittany Pierce likes to play the field and bed the prize. When one falls too hard, the repercussions cut deep. College/AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX. I own nothing but a computer and a sharpie.**

* * *

The day has finally come.

Her shoelaces are neatly tied, her black rimmed glasses well in place, her hair as good as it's going to get and her plain grey shoulder bag slung on her shoulder, heavy with administrative papers she needs to drop off and a four hundred page art book.

It's nearly 9am and the morning doesn't entirely suck. Things are looking good for—

"BREAKFAST."

–now.

Santana sighs at the loud voice and looks back at the full-length mirror in her mother's room one more time, willing herself to calm her nerves. She's never been particularly anxious about her appearance, but she figures she ought to make an effort for her first day of college. And by that she means wearing the most boring clothes in order to fade into the mass with little difficulty.

"COMING," she yells back, sighing as she scurries out of the room and down the creaking wooden stairs to the kitchen.

"Morning," she grumbles, sitting on the stool in front of the table and grabbing the maple syrup to poor it generously on the pancakes in front of her. No one would ever make her skip breakfast, that much was sure.

"Ay Santana," her mother scolds with a gentle tone, "you're becoming your aunt."

Santana shrugs and wolfs down her food. Her aunt Estela is a well-rounded woman who exudes happiness and success each time she drops by, meaning Santana takes her mother's words as a compliment. If she turns out being half the successful woman her aunt is, she'll consider herself more than lucky.

She finishes the pancakes quickly, only exchanging a few words with her mom (mornings aren't her thing), and sets the plate in the sink before kissing Maribel on the cheek. "Bye ma."

"Be careful," the woman says. Her daughter is already a few steps out of the kitchen before she raises her voice again. "And watch your feet!"

Santana groans. She knows she'd surely embarrass herself beyond imagination on a catwalk but she isn't the clumsiest either (that's a lie). It isn't her damn fault if people keep bumping into her and she face-plants onto the ground most of the time. She can't even keep count of the pairs of glasses that bent or broke because of it, but needless to say it isn't a pretty number.

That being said, she's definitely glad high school is behind her. Sure she's been home-schooled up until junior year due to her mother's personal beliefs, but she still suffered through two painfully awkward years at Bothell High. She really hopes the nickname that circulated there every day doesn't come up again in college. "Nerdtana Slowpez" is definitely not something she wants stuck to her for the rest of her life. Hopefully Noah Puckerman and Lauren Zizes disappear from her mind soon enough. Last she heard of them this summer, they were road tripping to LA to make a fortune with their sex-tape.

She shudders at the thought.

* * *

The Seattle College Of Art is definitely an upgrade from the crummy high school Santana attended in Bothell. The campus is fairly spread out and the buildings are all very impressionable. They have an avant-garde look to them that Santana loved when she first saw the pictures on their website, and the student body seems fairly eclectic. Then again, coming from a city with little diversity, it doesn't come as a surprise for Santana to think that. Bothell always had that small-town appeal to it that she never liked, with most people keeping to themselves but gossiping behind each other's back. She remembers how her neighbors used to throw pity looks at her mother when news of her parents' divorce was whispered around a few years ago, and she'd hated every moment of it.

Seeing so many students walk around on campus with oblivious faces and little care makes her feel at ease and oddly welcome. It also helps that the environment is a small piece of grassy heaven. The campus is situated slightly outside of Seattle, showcasing its vastness with two fairly large parks of neatly mowed green grass and maple trees. The colors are soothing and warm, with the occasional unobstructed rays of sunshine peeking through the bright red, vivid orange and yellow leaves. Fall is right around the corner and it's definitely Santana's favorite season.

When she registered for her classes, the system seemed more complex than what she originally thought, but it didn't take too long for her to figure out the registration website. She figured she'd get the boring stuff out of the way, which is why she doesn't really mind the obligatory Freshman Seminar. Her two classes revolving around her Art & Design major will hopefully fill in the gaps well enough, much like the other two core requirements she freely chose.

This semester can't possibly be worst than her senior year of high school.

* * *

Two weeks passed since her first class and Santana hasn't eaten her words yet. The transition for now is surprisingly smooth and she also finally settled into her dorm. Her roommates Aphasia and Suzy are more on the intense side, and they appeared disgruntled when Santana moved in the week before, but overall the three barely see each other all week, which is probably for the best.

(Santana makes sure not to touch the collection of peppers near the cupboard in the kitchen—Suzy is a bit obsessed with them.)

Move-ins are usually before classes even start but Santana had to wait about ten days because of a mix-up with the dorms. She didn't mind taking the bus from Bothell every morning, but the travel time is about forty-five minutes on crappy traffic days and waking up at 5:30am isn't her favorite thing.

Her mother also postponed her flight to Wyoming until Santana moved into her dorm room. Maribel is responsible of public relations for an emerging company but her constant need to travel put a strain on their relationship. After years of homeschooling, the two grew extremely close, but when her new career developed during Santana's high school experience, they lost a bit of their bond. She finally left the day after Santana moved into the SCOA housing facility, but not without of course reminding her to watch where she was walking and keep her chin up.

Santana is a bit bummed she's now completely alone, save for the one high school friend she has back in Bothell (she's still pretty sure he only likes her because she understands his heavy Irish accent), but she's used to the feeling. Either way, her classes so far are going well and that's at least something. The Freshman Seminar is incredibly boring (not to mention pointless) but her fumbling introduction to the class led her to meet Sam Evans, an avid TV addict and film enthusiast. Their love for all things Sean Connery sealed the deal for their imminent friendship. Much like Santana, Sam is more on the quiet and shy side at first, but once his ears pick up on a topic he's passionate about, he goes on for hours.

Her History of Art and Drawing classes are a bit slow for now, especially since she knows most of the things already, but she hopes it'll pick up eventually. There are a few snotty students who already commented on her artwork with a look of disdain, but she learned a long time ago not to let anyone stomp on her work. Sure she has a bit of a futuristic style with symbolism vibes that are rough on the eye at first, but she won't let this Quinn Fabray and her boner for Degas get the best of her.

She sighs as she walks out of her Drawing class with her sketchbook and assignment notes still in her hands, the strap of her shoulder bag slung awkwardly and her glasses a bit loose on her nose. Her hands are full as she walks down the hallway, fumbling with the papers and trying to find a way to look at the assignment she grabbed on her way out. There's only one person to be eager to read about homework so quickly after class and Santana fits the bill like a charm.

However, she only reads a few of the printed words before the papers she's holding slip through her fingers and fall on the floor with a woosh. Her reflexes are weak as she tries to grip at the ones still sliding and she finds herself in an awkward position, with her legs bent inwards and her hands completely full. _Oh my—_

"Let me get it," she hears.

"Oh god," she babbles, bending down and making more papers slip with her unsteady maneuver. She fumbles even more when she hears the light chuckle right in front of her, and lifts her head automatically. She notices wheat blonde hair first and light blue eyes second before her gaze briefly settles on soft pink lips curved into a smirk. She blushes hard as she realizes she's staring and immediately takes the papers from the girl's hands.

She stands up, shoving them all in her bag. "I—thanks," she squeaks.

The other girl is still with one knee bent to the ground, looking up at her like she just had the wickedest thought. Santana can't think of anything else to describe the sly grin on the girl's face.

"Freshman, huh?" The girl smirks again. Under any other circumstance Santana would think she's mocking her, but her tone seems more… amused.

"Ye-yeah," she stammers, cotton lodged in her throat.

"Cool thang," the girl chuckles, getting up without breaking their eye contact for a second. "I'm a sophomore."

"Oh," Santana awkwardly lets out. If it weren't for the girl still staring at her, she would punch herself in the face for her ineptness. It's been a while since she's had a face-to-face conversation with someone else than her mother or Sam and she's starting to understand why her cousin calls her a social tragedy most of the time.

The girl seems far beyond amused by now, looking at Santana with a twinkle in her eye. She grins harder, which makes Santana all the more nervous (does she have something in between her teeth?), and sets the pen she picked up in Santana's hand. "Well, I'll see you around."

Santana isn't sure what that's supposed to mean, or even what to make of the exchange, but with a wink and an overly confident smile the girl turns around and blends into the pack of students. Before she can process anything more, Santana feels a small tap on her shoulder and turns around swiftly. Sam smiles widely, trouty lips curved upwards and eyes twinkling boyishly.

"Hey."

"Sa-Sam," Santana stutters. She's pretty sure her heart is rehearsing how to beat like a jungle drum.

"Are you okay?" He enquires with a light tone.

"Yeah I'm... I was just going back to the dorms."

She isn't sure where she was headed before, but now she's definitely hiding under her blanket for the rest of the day.

"Alright. Well I have class but um… be careful of that Pierce girl okay? She's trouble." He says.

Santana is taken aback at first, wondering who he's talking about or even what he means. "Who?"

"Brittany. The blonde chick you were talking to?"

Santana blushes. Somehow this feels like being caught with her hand down the cookie jar. "Oh I wasn't really talking to her, she just—"

"Just don't let her walk all over you, all right?" Sam asks. There's sincerity hooked to his words and intensity in his eyes that make Santana uneasy and confused. She's sure she would have picked up on any sort of bad attentions coming from the girl who helped her. After all she already knows her fair share of hypocrites, especially hailing from a tumblr fandom where Bones and Castle fans pretend to cohabit and then criticize each other behind their screens.

(That is totally the same.)

"Okay Sam."

He smiles, satisfied with her answer. "Cool beans Santana. I'll see you later yeah?"

Santana nods. "See you later."

So long for normal weeks. This Brittany girl was nice to her, wasn't she? Maybe Santana really has no actual clue about "the signs". She can't stand being clueless though; she thought she saw her fair share of shows to know a little bit about how people work, didn't she?

She nods to herself, satisfied with her answer, and walks down the hall, relieved when she pushes one of the doors that lead outside and breathes in the lingering smell of maple and concrete. It's a weird combo, but she decides she liked it.

Aphasia barely looks at her when she passes their small living room to reach her own room. She's flipping channels with an angry glare (at the TV, Santana supposes) and doesn't bother turning her head. Santana shuts the door of her room and collapses on her bed, groaning at herself for being her stupid self. _Words!_ She thinks to herself. _Freaking use them while around people._

"Ugh."

She shifts until she's sitting and unties her shoes, taking them off and collapsing back on bed, the springs squeaking under the added weight. She stares at the light blue ceiling and frowns at herself, upset for letting small things get to her so quickly. Turning her head a bit, she looks at the paintbrushes she set on her desk this weekend. Her fingers ache to grab them. She's been feeling uninspired these past few days, the stress of various assignments catching up on her already, but something about today is pushing her over the edge. Maybe it's Sam, she muses… She felt a jolt run up her whole body this afternoon, a weird spasm that she never felt before. But her nose immediately scrunches up at the thought.

Sam is so gay it's a wonder he isn't Ellen and Elton's cosmic lovechild.

Still… she _did _feel something unusual.

She sighs and closes her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts and shut out the world. It's something her mother used to do with her—they would lie down on Maribel's bed together and close their eyes, taking long breaths and processing their thoughts. It was incredibly calming and after a while of doing it and getting over the fact they probably looked like two idiots, Santana realized it helped incredibly.

Soon she feels herself growing tired and doesn't fight the numbness taking over her senses. She sees sunshine hair before letting sleep blur her thoughts, the image of a wink and turquoise eyes fading away as she falls asleep.

* * *

**A/N: You can check out afterlaughs' fanart that inspired this fic on my profile page!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Your feedback has been insane guys, thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

It's on a Friday that Santana wakes up with drool at the corner of her mouth and the side of her pillow smashed into her face. She frowns as she turns on her back and wipes her hand across her lips, mumbling something along the lines of how attractive, and slips a few fingers through her unruly black locks, sighing as she pulls at some knots.

She stays in bed for a few minutes, letting her eyes get used to the glow of the morning. The first rays of sunlight are peeking through the generic blinds, giving the room a soft orange hue. There are small flecks of yellow on the desk next to the window, and Santana feels like a box of crayola exploded in the room. It's hypnotizing. Her mother thinks it's weird, but she loves everything about morning colors.

With a resigned sigh she pushes the dark blue cover away and shivers slightly as she slides off her bed. 7am is still ungodly in her books, especially for a Quantum Physics class. She already knows all about quantum duality and the theory of relativity, and her professor has a habit of repeating himself throughout his class. Santana is generally focused, but science is a subject she thinks of as raw and straight to the point—long sentences and the abuse of a thesaurus shouldn't have their place. She does love physics a lot, mostly because it's a natural science that works with logic and facts, but she never sees herself pursuing it as anything else than a hobby.

She supposes it's odd… resolving equations instead of doodling when she's bored in a particular class, but it gives her the only sense of control she ever hopes to have. Science is her quiet catharsis.

Her mother once shared she thought Santana would want to be a surgeon like her father, but it was a fleeting idea Santana never really entertained. Back when they were still a family, he was always constantly stressed and busy, often coming home with bags under his eyes and a sour mood, which ultimately cost him his marriage. It's far from what Santana wishes for herself—she respects him deeply, but she has no desire to follow his career path.

She feels good when she paints and she's set on it for now. Of course she knows she can still change her major next semester or next year… but she has an incline she won't.

She hums unconsciously as she walks towards the bathroom with her clothes in hand, and shuts the door before setting them near the sink, sighing as she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is a tangled mess, her eyes a scary charcoal of tiredness, and her eyebrows seem frozen into a frown. She'd swear her skin looks like toffee gone wrong but she rationalizes that it's probably the crappy lighting over the mirror that doesn't really help her case. She finally turns her head after a few seconds and slips off her shorts and t-shirt (a faded _Metropolis_ printed on it) before walking into the shower and pulling the curtain. She squeaks and takes a step back when the cold water hits her shoulders, quickly fumbling with the knobs to get the hot water. Soon she's humming under the warm spray, closing her eyes as she gets ready for the day.

* * *

A few hours later Santana is walking her way out of the science building, grateful that the class has passed fairly quickly. She ponders that it was probably because she re-enacted scenes of _The Lord of the Rings _in her head the whole time, but of course it wasn't as entertaining without Sam. Believe it or not, there aren't that many people capable of reciting the dialogue before Gandalf fought Saruman. _Not that I'd ever ask anyone_, Santana thought.

She's now on her way to the housing facility's cafeteria to meet up with Sam and his boyfriend Kurt. She met Kurt two days before and was surprised to only embarrass herself once or twice with her incoherent babbling. Fortunately Kurt is the friendly type and he laughed at her awkward demeanor and even compared her to Sam a few times, triggering a deep red on the blonde boy's cheeks. Santana was surprised to be so... at ease with the two boys, especially since she was taken aback by how flamboyant Kurt was. She was surprised mainly because Sam was his complete opposite, but she quickly realized it made them all the more click.

When she reaches the cafeteria she quickly scans the room and notices the guys just about to sit at a table with their meals. She grabs her meal and pays for it with her resident card and then walks over to their table, smiling a bit as they notice her.

"Wait, do we know you?" Kurt teases.

Santana smiles and rolls her eyes as she sits down. "Funny."

They quickly dig into their pasta while talking about their week and classes, which oddly morphs into an unrelated but nevertheless heated argument between Sam and Santana.

"Sean Bean is a genius, okay? Just accept it."

"_Please_ Sam you're embarrassing yourself. He's basically you're go-to actor to kill off in every movie. And he doesn't even do it _well._ I mean hello? His James Bond death was just—"

"Woah! Too far Santana! That's—"

"I can't believe I'm here right now," Kurt mutters.

Sam blinks and pauses before he looks at him and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."

They exchange looks before bursting out laughing, the absurdity of their previous discussion more glaring now than ever.

After a few seconds, Santana clears her throat in an effort to turn more serious and get to know Kurt a bit better. "So what's up with that play you guys are starting?" She asks. From their brief conversation on Wednesday she knows his major is theater and that his class is setting up a play for the end of the semester, but she doesn't know much more.

"Well," he beams, "It's called _Ellipsis_ and we're still auditioning for the main part… but I am _pretty sure_ I'll get it."

Sam chuckles. Santana arches an eyebrow with a smile. "You don't seem too sure of yourself."

Kurt shrugs unapologetically. "I'm not the worried type. Acting and singing… that's my dream you know. No one could take it from me."

Santana forces a smile as she thinks back on her own attempt to sing and perform. She remembers the raspy voice of her abuela as she sang in the kitchen; the soft hums of her mother as she braided her hair or the deep bass of her father as he took his shower. Back then, it made sense for her to sing along, to grow up wanting to belt out high notes and dance around in the cream-colored living room of her home. But Bothell High quickly crushed what she later defined as foolish thoughts.

She _did_ try, though, that much she's proud of. She just didn't know the rules of high school—that it was eat or be eaten, head high or ducked down. She was so eager to meet people that she didn't realize she was completely out of her comfort zone.

A few weeks into her junior year—her first year in high school—Santana decided she would do something like all the cool kids did. This was what you did to be accepted, right?

So she created detailed posters with her own two hands and her newly cracked Photoshop, paying attention to details and making sure the fonts complimented the overall esthetic. She wrote down the table to meet up at in the school cafeteria and even left a couple of lines for people to write on.

(Their_ names, comments, or any suggestions_, she had underlined in a smaller font.)

She thought it would have been fun to put together some type of singing club, something artsy that made her feel giddy. Now she looks back on the memory with a mortified expression. What was she thinking…

She waited at the cafeteria table of course, anxious and excited to meet new people, before she realized no one would sit down next to her. Sometimes she noticed one person looking at her and she allowed herself to smile back, hoping for the best, only to realize later it was only mocking pity that had reflected in their eyes.

The following week her posters near the lockers were scribbled on with derogatory names or torn off.

She played by the rules after that, embarrassed that she _didn't know_ high school wasn't one giant pool of camaraderie. The nicknames and snickers had already started though, and she was cast at the bottom of the chain within a month.

"Hey Santana," Sam interrupts her thoughts. "What about Sean Bean in _Game Of Thrones_? You can't tell me he wasn't amazing."

Santana exhales a laugh, amused by Sam's stubborn persistence. "Yeah he was pretty good after his head got chopped off."

Sam gasps.

Kurt rolls his eyes before he notices the occupied table a few meters in front of them, the venom filled laugh he hears drawing his attention. He can recognize that sound anywhere. Sebastian Smythe likes to be heard.

"Typical," he mutters.

Santana looks over at him, swallowing a mouthful of pasta as Sam follows Kurt's line of sight. He groans as he spots the group of people he so severely loathes.

"Jeez," Santana frowns. "You both look like you've seen a Nazgûl or something."

Kurt shakes his head, letting out a small laugh. "No, it's nothing."

"Fucking pricks", Sam mumbles, shoving his mouth full of pasta.

"Okay," Santana drawls out, starting to get curious.

Kurt chuckles at her befuddlement. "Don't worry Santana, you'll have plenty of time to hear all about SCOA's very own pretentious Elite."

Elite? Santana only heard those terms in high school and she honestly believed she'd never hear them again for a long time. She thought college wasn't like high school; no clicks that rule the campus and make your life a living hell. No lockers you get nudged into or stairs you get tripped on. Most of all: no "eat or be eaten". This can't be right.

"What do you mean?"

"See for yourself," Kurt shrugs.

She's confused for a second before she catches on and turns around in her seat awkwardly, her neck popping slightly. She notices the guy first, with his prominent red polo shirt and slicked back hair. Santana doesn't really bother judging people by their appearance, but he just has weasel written all over his face.

Her eyes widen when she notices the dark haired girl next to him, staring at her with an arched eyebrow. She whispers something to the blonde at her left and smirks when the other girl turns around as well. Santana blushes like an idiot as she briefly recognizes Brittany; her piercing eyes staring right at her. She _smirks_. Not any type of smirk, a detestable knowing smile that makes Santana shiver. She knows that type of smile is anything but good.

"Oh my god," she whimpers after she snaps back around.

Kurt chuckles as he observes Santana's obvious shame in attracting the two girls' attention. "Well, that was…"

"Stupid. I'm so stupid," she laments.

"Santana…" Kurt starts, his lips twitching. "They're not looking at you anymore, stop beating yourself up."

Santana picks at her food, eyes looking at the green peas near the pasta.

(She focuses on the colors, the bright green next to the tame red of the tomato sauce.)

"Oh boy," Sam exhales, eyes wide as he takes in Santana's quiet demeanor. "You're not… pulling a Curaré on us are you?"

"Shut up," Santana snarls at his comparison. "Maybe she was mute but she was still a badass assassin."

Sam laughs. "You're right, I'm sorry."

Santana shakes her head. "No it's okay."

They finish their lunch in a comfortable silence, with Sam and Kurt occasionally glancing at each other with small smiles. Santana thinks they suit each other perfectly, though she does feel a bit like an awkward third wheel for a few minutes.

(It must be nice, she thinks, having someone to share looks like that with.)

After they finish and walk out of the building, Sam briefly kisses Kurt before strutting to his next class. Santana smiles as Kurt watches him turn the corner.

"Someone's smitten…" She teases playfully.

Kurt chuckles. "In my defense, he has quite the charming ass."

Santana smiles, but grows more serious as she sees the hesitation on Kurt's face. "Look…" he starts, "I know this isn't my place, but Sam told me about your little run-in with Brittany Pierce. And judging by the way she looked at you today… well… You'd do best to stay away from her."

Santana blinks, his words not making much sense to her. What is it with this Brittany that has both Sam and him tense?

"Oh boy…" Kurt sighs softly. "You just have no clue, do you?"

By the tone of his voice, Santana can just tell he means no clue in _general_ rather than no clue about Brittany. She'd be offended if it wasn't so close to the truth.

"Um…"

He chuckles drily. This is for the best. "Well I guess some things are just better left unknown."

Santana notices him relax before he flashes her a cheerful smile, his face completely different from only mere moments ago.

"Time to face the music, I've got an audition to prepare for." He winks and brushes past her, leaving her all the more confused.

* * *

It's nearly 5pm when she gets out of her History of Art class. It's her longest class along with the drawing one and she can't wait to collapse on her bed. It's always a lot of information to take in, especially since their professor warned she likes surprise quizzes. Santana is fairly good on the subject matter but doesn't mix well with surprises.

She walks across the campus, looking around as she takes in the grass and the few trees, their height making her feel small but weirdly safe. It's a change from the dead environment surrounding Bothell High, with its dead branches lying on dry grass and the few rocks that usually dirty up the front sidewalk.

She squints when she notices something moving further away.

Her breath hitches. She isn't sure what she's seeing and she knows she should definitely stop _staring_, but her eyes are glued to the two very feminine shapes lying on the grass for all the campus to see. Well, Santana amends, the large tree trunk sort of hides them, and the path she's on is relatively void of people, but still…

Her eyes widen a bit as she walks, still curious and mesmerized. She knows it's Brittany. She remembers a flash of rainbow around her wrist when she furtively looked at her in the corridor (from a bracelet or a tied scarf, she isn't sure) and she definitely remembers that blonde hair. It's slightly wavier today than it was the first time she saw her, with something that looks like a feather tangled in it. She would have noticed in the cafeteria had she not been blinded by the fact she made a complete fool out of herself.

Their bodies are tightly pressed against one another, Brittany straddling the girl with her fingers in brown locks and their legs tangled together. Santana averts her eyes when their lips collide, hard and possessive and everything she doesn't know. She feels her cheeks get hotter as she looks at her feet and picks up her pace, eager to scurry away as discreetly as possible. She's never been kissed before (Blaine Anderson's pity peck during her mother's New Year party two years ago does _not_ count) but she wonders if it should look that… _aggressive_. Then again she doesn't know mu—

"Omph!" She exhales, her body colliding hard with another one and her glasses almost falling off her nose.

"I'm so sorry!" She exclaims, taking note of the small girl on the ground and bending down to help her up.

"It's all right," the girl huffs as she gets up, hands clutching what looks like partitions. "Thank Barbra my talent is unbreakable."

"I—"

"Never mind," the girl cuts her off, "Stardom doesn't wait."

She brushes past her before Santana even has time to say Chewbacca. _What the hell just happened_, she groans.

She pushes her glasses back in place and sighs (it sounds more like a defeated puff), looking ahead of herself as she walks towards the brick housing building.

Little does she know one Brittany Pierce is observing her with a sly smile, vaguely aware of the pair of lips still sucking on her neck and whispering words in her ear.

This ought to be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

[1] Message

**The****RedOctober asked: **_Since when do your posts get more notes than mine? I'm hurt._

Santana chuckles at Sam's question in her tumblr ask box, quickly answering back with a wink. She'd posted a detailed critique of the newly released _Resident Evil: Retribution_ a few days ago and slammed it for its boring predictability and poor direction. She hadn't expected the franchise's hardcore fandom to take apart her words and criticize _her_ for it, but since the Avengers debacle of May, she's used to a little heat in her askbox.

She hums as she listens to the Dark Knight soundtrack, the glare of the computer reflecting itself in her glasses and making her squint slightly. She's trying to type an essay on impressionism without getting distracted too much, which inevitably bites her in the ass. It isn't her favorite art movement by far (she likes details far too much to appreciate its thick and bold strokes of paint) and her tracked tags are constantly distracting her.

She manages to write two double-spaced pages before she hears a strong knock on the door. She stays still for a second, not sure if her imagination is playing tricks on her mind, before she fumbles with her headphones and sets them on her desk. She gets up to open the door but almost regrets it when Aphasia's glare bores into her eyes.

"Um… yes?" She hesitates. They've only exchanged a couple of words before and they haven't been the friendliest. Aphasia has a sharp tongue and a short temper; the type of person Santana usually shies away from.

"You need to take out the trash," the girl says. Her eyes are narrowed and somber, adding to the dead blasé tone of her voice.

Santana is taken aback, confused as to why the girl is seeking her out for something she has nothing to do with. She's on a meal plan and doesn't use the small kitchen other than to use the sink. She didn't even know they had a garbage can in that space… "I—what?"

"The trash. Garbage. Shit that's been pilling up for the past week, you _gets_ it?"

Santana squeaks out a "yes", much like a scaredy-cat who's been stepped on, and moves past Aphasia to walk to the kitchen. She hesitates before she finds the dark plastic bag, almost overflowing with half eaten food and papers. She ties the two ends together before picking it up and walking pass the living room, quickly noticing Aphasia's eyes back on the TV. She opens the door and steps out, uttering a high-pitched _what the freaking hell_ under her breath.

She knew from the first day meeting them that she hadn't exactly hit the jackpot with her roommates, but she didn't think it would come down to one of them forcing her to do chores. Well… she supposes she could have slammed the door in her face, but that's a solution only possible in her wildest dreams. Besides, she doesn't want to get on the girl's bad side.

She takes a deep breath before looking up and walking down the corridor until she reaches the small laundry room of her floor that connects to the narrow space with the garbage can. She grimaces as she shoves the bag into the container and walks back out. She makes it out of the laundry room and into the corridor before she freezes and feels her heart crawl up her throat.

The dark haired girl that spotted her staring at the cafeteria is walking in the opposite direction, head held high and lips frozen into a thin line. Santana keeps walking, clearing her throat before she notices the less than well-intentioned smile at the corner of the girl's lips. She feels another fearful jolt in her body and lowers her eyes, watching her feet as she takes her door key out of her back pocket. The girl opens the door right in front of hers and shuts it close. Santana whimpers internally at the realization she's her front door neighbor and pushes her own door open, swallowing when she meets Aphasia's stare in the living room.

_Are you kidding m–_

"You okay?"

She's surprised to say the least by the concern in Aphasia's voice, almost as if she cares and expects an answer.

Santana hesitates, taken aback. "Um, yeah."

It's weird, she thinks, how Aphasia goes from getting her out of her room to do something for her to this almost familiar look she's throwing at her.

"Someone bothered you?" She reiterates.

Santana shakes her head. "No I just… saw a girl I think doesn't like me much."

She doesn't know why she feels so darn at ease sharing this with Aphasia all of a sudden, someone she only knows likes to watch TV and curse out loud randomly, but she feels vaguely certain that the girl actually wants to know.

"Mackenzie?"

Now Santana is lost. "Who?" Why do people constantly throw names at her in the middle of conversations?

"The Mack. She's a skank."

_Yes that much is clear—not. _

Aphasia rolls her eyes. "Dark hair, dumbass smirk, stupid piercings."

Oh. "Yeah I guess that's her," Santana stutters out. Jesus, what is it with Aphasia's hot and cold temper.

"Well stay away from her skanky ass. She's a triple cunt. And next time the garbage is full, tell Pepper she's the one to take it out."

Santana looks at her incomprehensively. "…What? Why?"

"_Because_ Santana, that's how you keep a dynamic dormitory."

Santana stays quiet for a second, looking at her as if she's waiting for Aphasia to laugh out loud and call her dumb. The laugh never comes. "Um, okay."

She waits for her decidedly peculiar roommate to speak up again, but bites her lip when she stares back at the TV.

She shifts, unsure. "I'll just… um…"

She clears her throat awkwardly before quickly walking back to her room, nervous and completely confused by what happened in less than ten minutes. She shuts her door behind her and rubs her forehead, frowning at herself as she plops down on the chair in front of her laptop.

She moves the mouse and it quickly strums back to life, the screen lighting up and making her eyes squint just a bit as she adjusts to the harsh glow. She stares at her still incomplete essay for a few minutes before sighing and clicking on the safari icon, opening various tabs on impressionism and reluctantly reading and sorting out the various bits of information, the thought of what happened mere moments ago still fresh on her mind. This is going to be a long evening.

* * *

When she enters the classroom the day after, still groggy from the little sleep she had, Santana pops open one of her shirt's buttons, feeling anxious and too hot in the span of a second. She sits at her usual spot, between an old easel and one Quinn Fabray, and swallows when the professor finally enters the class.

She worked all night on this essay and is still fairly disappointed with it, her thoughts going from apprehensive to overly critical. She loves writing as it is, but any topic that doesn't particularly interest her is a lost cause. Of course she'll never just skip an assignment—she'd burry herself ten feet under if she was caught with a below 90 grade—but this one was a tough nut to crack. Seven pages on a very restricted thesis definitely spat her out with a migraine and a frown.

As the professor picks up their papers and tells them to carry on with their "arts in progress", Santana cracks her fingers and fidgets, a bad habit she picked up from Rory Flanagan and his overly stressed behavior during their senior year of high school.

(Santana isn't surprised she doesn't miss him at all.)

As the History of Art and Drawing classes are symbiotic, their course development is fairly close and one class completes the other. Their study of impressionism is a means to develop their artistic skills while being hands on with the material they are given. Santana is aching to paint but she knows sketches and elaborate drawings are the goal here. She's been working on this since last week but is still pretty sure she's missing the point.

As she looks silently at the shapes and forms she drew, the soft edges and sharp details she incorporated, she twirls the pencil she's holding, almost too lost in her work to hear the scoff at her right.

She turns her head and arches an eyebrow. For some reason, Quinn Fabray does not intimidate her in the least. "Is there a problem?"

Quinn smiles with lofty disdain. "What you call art, perhaps."

Santana scoffs disbelievingly. "Says the one who draws a sun and calls herself Monet."

Quinn narrows her eyes. "Better than this futuristic crap you spew every class."

"Oh please, y—"

"Ladies! I assume you're talking about your collaboration for next week's project?"

Both their heads snap towards their professor.

"Collaboration?"

Quinn snorts. "Oh absolutely not."

She arches her eyebrow disbelievingly at Ms. Holliday before throwing a glare at Santana. "Fine," she says through gritted teeth.

Santana groans at the prospect of working with the girl but resigns herself at the fact.

After hours of silent and focused sketching with ten minutes of Ms. Holliday talking now and then, the class comes to its end and Santana turns her wrist a few times as she flexes her fingers, getting rid of the small numbness she usually has when she draws for longer periods of time.

She turns and bends over to grab her shoulder bag when a phone is shoved under her nose, making her flinch back.

"Look, let's just do this quickly and get it over with. So give me your number and I'll text you my ideas."

Santana looks at Quinn for a couple of seconds before reaching out for her phone, entering her number and handing it back to her. She takes out her own phone out of her bag's front pocket.

"Is that a fossil?"

She scowls at Quinn's remark and tries coming up with a witty retort before she resigns herself with a stammer. "No it's—um, vintage."

Quinn scoffs, her smile now amused. "Well please give Mr. Graham Bell his phone back when you can, I'm sure he's been looking for it."

Santana ignores her words as she fumbles with the buttons and hands the object (true it isn't a brand new model or a smartphone, but it does serve its purpose) more roughly to Quinn. "Let's just get this over with please."

* * *

A few minutes later Santana is walking down the corridor, intending on locking herself up in the campus library. Well, not so much lock herself up than stay at the small wooden table at the corner of the room, mind lost in between two lines of a book. Between yesterday night's events and now she's still trying to process her thoughts.

She can't be sure how the dark haired girl—Mackenzie—looked at her, but she knows it chilled her to her core. She's always been particularly wary of prolonged eye contact, the exchange somewhat much too intimate for her, but she still knows the way the girl looked at her; even if she'd noticed it for only a second; was anything but warm or familiar.

It was an ice-cold stare that had only been sharpened by the curve of a smirk. A gaze that felt predatory and superior, something she recognized from the way… _Brittany_ had looked at her at the cafeteria. They both had the same haughtiness in their eyes, the same malice that she remembers from girls like Lauren in high school. Only Lauren had been obvious about it, the type to gloat about their superiority and look at anyone straight in the eye without flinching. Brittany… Brittany looked at Santana like a hawk observing its prey from afar. It was imposing but subtle, piercing but guarded. It was everything that made Santana anxious and alert.

She can't fall into the same patterns of high school. She won't go through bullying a second time.

(Deep down she knows this is different from how Lauren used to look at her, but she still feels the need to be cautious.)

She glances around as she gets to the campus library and enters the room, noticing the few students at tables or the ones sprawled on the round chairs, book in hand but eyes closing on their own. Santana can never concentrate if she sits on those chairs, the plush feel reminding her too much of her bed. She licks her bottom lip as she finally walks through the bookshelves, the dry atmosphere getting under her skin.

She finally puts down her bag on the table that is nearest to the bookshelves (as predicted) and a bit more secluded than the others. It isn't necessarily that she likes ostracizing herself from the other tables or study groups, but she's comfortable surrounded by the sharp lines of the two bookshelves that form a small corner.

She's finished reading two chapters of her freshman seminar book when she decides she's had enough. She stretches her legs under the table before she shoves the book in her bag and walks back towards the main entrance. She's in between two book racks when she stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening as she takes in the tall figure walking towards her.

"Thought I might find you here," the girl says, a smile at the corner of her lips.

Santana swallows, looking behind her to make sure Brittany isn't talking to someone else. She snaps her head back when she hears her chuckle.

"Looking for someone?"

Santana shakes her head. "N-no, I was just–I was just–"

"Making sure I was talking to you?"

Santana takes a second before nodding, her fingers playing nervously with the strap of her bag.

Brittany smiles. "Well I am…"

"In fact," she continues, "I've been looking for you."

"You have?" Santana stammers.

"U-huh," Brittany smirks, taking a step forward as she maintains Santana's stare and holds out her hand. "I'm Brittany."

Santana looks at her hand with nervous eyes, wondering for a second what she's supposed to do with it. She cusses at herself before taking Brittany's hand in hers. "I'm–I know," she lets out. "I mean-"

"I know? That's an interesting name," Brittany chuckles.

"No no I meant, uh, Santana. But I know your name because Sam mentioned it and I–not that I asked! I mean he saw you when you were helping me out and was telling me about you, b-but not in a weird way. And then at the cafeteria Kurt was talking and saw you and I was curious and—oh god I'm so sorry," Santana squeaks out, realizing her babbling is turning into word vomit and feeling her pulse quicken. She drops Brittany's hand when she realizes she's still shaking it. "Sorry!" She says again.

_Jesus I'm sweating._

Brittany looks beyond amused by now, with a grin showing off her pearly whites and the laugh bubbling in her throat making Santana cringe at her own case of social stupidity.

"Oh man, you are something else," Brittany says, her laugh still present in the tone of her voice.

Santana looks down for a second, only to snap her eyes back up when she realizes she's inadvertently staring at Brittany's breasts. She blushes. Brittany looks pleased.

"I'll cut to the chase," Brittany finally says, tone more serious. "Sam and Kurt? Totally not worth your time. What you _should_ do is ditch boy lips and boy gay, come to my friend's bash this weekend and loosen up a little. What do you say?"

Santana's face scrunches up in a confused expression before she lets out a short breath. "I don't… I'm not…"

"Come on," Brittany encourages, taking another step towards her. "What do you have to lose?"

Santana tries stepping backwards, her heart pounding at the lazy grin on Brittany's face and the way her hips move so effortlessly. She freezes when she feels the bookshelf behind her, cornering her into the wall.

"You know…" Brittany murmured, her face so close Santana can distinguish the small freckles on her face and the specks of grey in her eyes. "There aren't too many people who would turn this down…"

Santana swallows forcibly, her throat dry and starting to scratch. She knows she has to say _something_ at some point, but Brittany has her cornered in every way and she deals horribly with fast decisions. She doesn't see how this is a good idea at all. Sam and Kurt seem to loathe Brittany and her group, and she hasn't heard the best things from Aphasia either. And that stare… it doesn't promise anything good, but somehow… Somehow Santana is entranced.

"Okay," she finally says, voice raspy from nerves and mind already screaming at her to take it back.

Brittany nods satisfactorily, her eyes falling on Santana's lips for just a second before she smiles slyly. "You got a pen?"

"A pen?"

"You know, something to write with."

"Oh yes," Santana nods, reaching into her bag and taking out a black ink pen. Brittany grins as she takes it, trailing her fingers on Santana's with little subtlety. Santana's breath hitches, not used to the girl's touch or proximity. Not used to _anyone's_ touch.

"There you go."

Santana looks down at the flutter she feels and notices the ten digits inked on her arm.

"Text me for the details."

Brittany gives her her pen back and smiles in a satisfied way, like she's been starved for days and is now presented with an opportunity to eat. Santana just hopes she isn't the meal. "Oh and Santana?" She hears her murmur, making her tense when she feels Brittany's warm breath near her ear. "I bet you look super hot on a dance floor."

_Hot?_ Santana has been described many times in her life but _hot_ was never her classmates' word of choice. _Awkward_ perhaps. _Nerdy_ at times… and less colorful words that she hopes to forget as well. But hot...

Well, words like "hot" make her blush for hours.

Brittany chuckles before she winks at her, turns around and starts humming a familiar tune.

It takes Santana a moment (eight minutes) before she regains the use of her legs and moves from her spot to the table, thoughts still buzzing with Brittany's words. The only parties she's attended involved either adults around her mother's age or their younger kids (her mother had her fairly young), and she's only seen the inside of a club in movies or shows. Granted she has danced in her room alone a few times… but her coordination is mediocre at best.

Still… she has to admit a part of her is enjoying this fear of the unknown. Sure she's petrified, convinced she'll make a fool out of herself, but in a way it reminds her of how she was before high school. So eager to be reckless and learn new things… She's learned that was foolish very soon, but part of her always wondered what would have happened if she didn't let the fear of being shoved on a daily basis get to her.

She sighs, looking at her phone and letting her leg move nervously under the library table. She knows she shouldn't even entertain the thought… Sam has such visceral reactions any time Brittany and her posse are mentioned, and that smile means nothing but trouble. But this is college, and her freshman year at that. If she doesn't live it up now, she knows she'll end up regretting it.

She still can't go alone; the idea is a little bit too frightening for her taste, but she also can't let Sam or Kurt know about it. So after a few minutes of nervous wondering and debating, she texts the only person she thinks will agree to go with her.

_01:27pm: Hey, are you free this weekend?_


	4. Chapter 4

As it turns out, Quinn Fabray does _not_ agree with her proposition at all. Sure Santana is aware they're not exactly best friends, and they've exchanged more than a few cutting words bashing both their tastes and their work, but she sees it more as some bizarre type of banter than real disdain. She doesn't actually dislike Quinn; it's just that close-minded people often leave a sour taste in her mouth. Besides, she's convinced the girl is more on the falsely haughty side. Like she's been criticized her whole life and is now protecting herself by emulating that attitude. Perhaps Santana is completely off track in thinking that, but if Quinn is indeed protecting herself from eventual pain by letting people in too soon… well, that's something Santana can understand at least on some level. This art project did seem like a pain in the ass at first, but Santana is starting to think it could actually be a good opportunity to rise above their differences and maybe get to know each other better.

(Quinn doesn't seem to have that many friends either. Santana often sees her at the library when she's there as well, and she spotted her twice on campus eating a sandwich alone under one of the maple trees.)

In a ditch effort to convince Quinn, Santana tries asking her again later that day, letting her mull over the idea a bit more.

_06:47pm: Please at least think about it… I'll let you insult Picasso in exchange._

She sighs as she sets her phone back on the wooden desk of her dorm room, not expecting an answer until a while. At least she's getting used to this texting thing. Only a few months ago her only contacts were a few relatives or assigned partners, much like Quinn now, and the only person who was interested in texting her was her mother to tell her dinner was in the microwave. Santana is glad she met Sam so soon. His texts are silly most of the time but she enjoys their constant debates about which movie to rip to shreds or which super villain to devote next week to. Villains are so much more interesting than heroes, not to mention badass.

She catches herself sketching randomly as her thoughts run a mile, a white sheet of paper smooth under her hand. She's drawing a feminine face with catlike eyes, already fierce and deadly. Sam will probably beg her for days to draw some stuff for him if he ever discovers she indulges in comic book sketches like these (poor guy can't even draw a potato), so she makes sure to keep this past time for the evening. She does like Sam a lot—there's a cliché nerdiness to their friendship that has its quirky charm—but she's not ready for him to know things like this.

This is her thing in a way, a pastime different than resolving equations or studying new scientific theories, and she likes drawing out what her imagination offers.

This time though, it's a bit trickier. She's got the eyes narrowed down and the shape of the face, wild hair framing it as it curls down smooth shoulders, but she can't get the lips correctly at all. Normally it's easier with women; she loves everything about the female form; but somehow her eraser is getting shorter and her patience growing thinner. She bites her bottom lip before she decides to draw the body, long and lean and undeniably toned. Normally she's prone to draw all shapes and forms, and she doesn't care much for the stereotypical bombshell in most male oriented comic books or video games, but here her hand is irrevocably more in control than her mind and she admits this is starting to get close to superwoman, save the flashy blue and cocktail red clothes along with the d-cup breasts.

She sighs in frustration when the same shapeless set of lips comes up and she quickly erases them, almost ripping the paper in the process. Minutes later she tries looking at her drawing objectively, and feels something pop in place when she tries her hand at the lips again.

They're thin and she knows they'll be a pale pink if she decides to color them. It's fitting somehow even if she can't explain why. But then she notices the subtle curve of the right corner and she bites her lip at the realization it's a goddamn _smirk_. A smirk that's been following her everywhere and anywhere, and that she can't get out of her head because it's borderline haunting her. Apparently her subconscious is tainted as well.

Her eyes trace the drawing from the booted feet to the legs, roaming pass the body suit and the black-red gloves until she reaches the delicate neck and then the jaw, the lips, nose, and eyes. The black mask isn't enough for Santana to not realize it's _Brittany_ she's been thinking of with a tight leather body suit and she coughs in embarrassment. There's no one in her room, but Jesus, she can't believe she let her mind go _there_.

She's about to hide the drawing in the desk drawer before she's surprised by the short buzz of her phone. She sets the drawing aside, turning it over, before she bites her bottom lip, expecting a negative answer from Quinn but hoping for the best.

_07:23pm [Quinn Fabray]: And Dali too?_

A breath of laughter escapes Santana's lips before she quickly types back. She knows she's closer to persuading Quinn to come with her.

_07:24pm: I hope the prison of poor taste arrests you soon. But yes, all right._

Santana eagerly waits for Quinn's reply, leg moving under her desk and fingers taping on polished wood. She knows it's ridiculous to be so anxious for something like this, but she feels like she could perhaps be Quinn's friend, despite their initial resentment and rivalry. It won't be the same as with Sam or Kurt, but Santana knows that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Besides, she has to come out of her comfort zone at some point… right?

_07:28pm [Quinn Fabray]: You've got yourself a deal Lopez. What's your room number?_

Santana can't contain her smile as she gives Quinn the number and tells her she'll give her more details on the party as soon as she texts Brittany. Which reminds her… she has no idea how to go about asking the girl for more information. She might be more comfortable with Quinn, but Brittany is a whole other level of intimidating. She's unapologetic and confident, sure of who she is and what she wants, and by the way Santana hears Sam talk about the girl, it's obvious she couldn't care less about what people might think of her.

It's something Santana admires, in a way, since she's grown to believe blending in is the easiest way to survive without being ridiculed or criticized. Yet Brittany walks like she owns the campus and talks with assurance and ambition, not caring much about the whispers or rumors around her. It must be nice, Santana thinks, to just _be_ and not _act_, but she knows she'd rather be a nobody than get reacquainted with Nerdtana Slowpez and the mocking whispers of Bothell.

With that thought in mind, she gnaws on her bottom lip (a habit she seriously needs to knock off, but hey, better than popping all the bones of her body, she thinks) while staring at the screen of her phone, trying to come up with a text that doesn't scream awkward or rude or anything in between. Finally she settles for,

_07:37pm: Hey, this is Santana… the girl from the library. Just wondering where the party is?_

Simple and to the point; that isn't a bad thing right? Not too eager, not too apathetic… Santana nods to herself and resets the phone on her desk, trying to get her mind off of it. She hopes Brittany at least remembers her, or else she probably just embarrassed herself further. But there's no reason she won't… After all she's the one who asked her to come, not the other way around.

Santana tries to focus on anything else but fails miserably; her fingers itching to take her phone back and stare at it mindlessly. Instead she gets up abruptly and walks out of her room towards the small kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and filling it up before she takes four gulps. She sets it back and her eye catches the jars of peppers on the counter, all different shapes and colors.

This shit is seriously weird.

She goes to touch one but decides against it when she remembers the look on Suzy's face when Aphasia almost knocked one over. She shivers. Her roommates were born and raised in crazytown, that much is sure.

She walks back to her room and slumps on her chair, fighting the urge to fiddle her thumbs. She could go on tumblr and easily waste most of her time there, but her dash is always a bit calm around these hours. Maybe she should follow more people, but then it quickly gets clustered with random text posts or huge photosets. Her hand hovers over the mouse when she hears the buzz of her phone, making her heart jump in her throat. She takes a deep breath before reading the message.

_07:51pm [Brittany Pierce]: I'll pick you up, Saturday 9pm ;)_

_Holy crap nuggets. _

Well. At least Santana is completely sure now. This _was_ the worst idea in her entire existence. Eating several bugs and worms at 6 years old because they did it in the Lion King doesn't even come close to this, because_ this,_ is a disaster.

It's not just a party. It's a freaking date. At least Santana thinks it is… because why the hell would Brittany tell her, awkward clumsy freshman, she's picking her up? It doesn't make sense; actually it's the complete opposite of making sense and Santana is starting to have a full-blown panic attack. She's never been on a date before, never mind one with the resident kissing bandit (it's not her proudest nickname, but it's the only thing that comes up, especially when she remembers seeing her with that brunette).

Rory was the closest thing to a date she ever had, and even then it was her playing fake girlfriend because his family was pressuring him to find a "sweet American girl". Fortunately they all thought she was weird and not the match they envisioned for their son and that was the end of that.

But this is beyond anything Santana knows and she doesn't even understand how Brittany could possibly be interested in her. Sam and Kurt are probably right, she should stay far away and tell Brittany she's sorry but something came up. Yeah… that's a good plan, she'll just text her Friday and say she needs to study or something.

Except she's a terrible liar and doesn't know the first thing about good excuses. If Brittany ever confronts her, she'll probably have another case of word vomit and spill out the truth. _  
_

She drops her head to her desk, closing her eyes and cursing the moment she said yes. This is exactly why she normally avoids rash decisions.

And Quinn… what will she tell her? She's already annoyed her enough to call the whole thing off. But even then, Quinn couldn't be here if Brittany came to pick her up, could she?

Santana groans. This whole "I'll pick you up" protocol is starting to give her a migraine.

_Crap damn, this is exactly why I avoid people._

* * *

Saturday comes fast enough, and Santana's nerves are high and alert. She finally decided to follow the plan and have Quinn come at 8:45pm so Brittany would drive them to the place. Santana hasn't told Brittany about Quinn, but she figures she won't mind. The more the merrier right?

After Quinn knocks they exchange a few words on their project and sit in the small living room, with Quinn looking way more posh than what Santana expected. She's too nervous herself to make any comment that could anger the girl, but she does feel out of place. She's wearing a plain grey t-shirt with white jeans, and she let her hair down after taming the unruly locks for an hour. She knows she doesn't look half as nice as Quinn, with her little black dress and stilettos, but she also knows she isn't a complete nightmare. Then again, she has no sense of fashion whatsoever, so it is possible she's completely out of style.

When she hears the knock on the door she throws Quinn a look and goes to open it, doing her best to swallow her nerves in the process. As she finally sees Brittany, she's taken aback by the soft genuine smile on her face. It's void of any slyness or snark, and Santana wonders if this is the real Brittany Pierce or just an act for the night. Either way, she looks incredible. She's wearing dark skinny jeans and a light blue top, making her eyes pop all the more. Santana clears her throat before smiling back. "Hi."

"Hi," Brittany grins, "You look—"

They hear footsteps approach and Santana twists around to see Quinn walk towards them. She turns back to Brittany and bites her lip.

"This is, um, Quinn… I thought she could come with us? I hope that's okay…"

Brittany narrows her eyes, giving Quinn what is probably the coldest look Santana has ever seen. It's a complete U-turn from seconds ago and Santana feels all but comfortable. The way the light in the corridor gives a sharp edge to Brittany's steel blue irises doesn't really help either.

"That's fine," Brittany finally says, "But we should get going."

Quinn arches an eyebrow as Santana throws her a cautious look, but the girl doesn't really seem fazed at all, so she nods and closes the door behind them.

* * *

Santana thought she knew a lot about being awkward. But this, having Brittany drive them to her friend's house in complete silence, this takes the cake.

* * *

When they finally get there, twenty painful minutes later, Santana is amazed at how the scenery isn't that much different from the campus. The grass is as green and the house as impressive as the SCOA housing facility, only this is a private property for what she guesses is only one family. It's more of a mansion than a house really, which Santana has only ever seen in Hitchcock movies. She really hopes she's not about to get stabbed or forced to drink until she dies.

"Pretty neat huh?" Brittany asks.

Quinn looks completely awed, her mouth gaping and her eyes wide open. "Wow," she breathes out. "Is this your place?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Nah, it's Sebastian's, but I do give him a good run for his money."

Santana feels her hand on her back and her head snaps towards her. Brittany smiles knowingly. "Shall we?"

She nods mindlessly and the three of them walk down through the garden. It's so huge Santana doesn't know where to rest her eyes; everything is incredibly distracting and new. From the soft hues of the night lights to the fountain, the willows moving with the slight breeze and the palette of countless colors. She knows they're out of the city, but it just seems like another world entirely.

As they walk nearer, Santana can hear the booming music get louder and louder, the beats almost resonating under her feet. She chances a look at Quinn who still looks like she just got the key to paradise, and then at Brittany. As if sensing her, Brittany stares back and throws her a knowing wink. Santana quickly averts her eyes, but hears the small chuckle the other girl lets out.

The doors are wide open and two people stumble out of it, hands all over each other and dopy smiles on their faces. Santana would think it was cute if it wasn't so apparent they're already ticked out of their minds and starting to get sloppy with their kisses. Brittany is unfazed as she brushes past them, Santana next to her and Quinn right behind.

She looks around before smiling wide when another girl throws her arms around her neck.

"Brittanyyy," the girl whines, "I missed you."

Santana looks at Quinn who arches an amused eyebrow.

"Sug' you gotta let me go," Brittany laughs, "you're choking me."

The girl pulls back with a sheepish look, but her eyes narrow when she sees Santana and Quinn. "Is this—"

"Yeah," Brittany cuts her off.

Santana is confused but shakes it off when Brittany smiles reassuringly and motions to her with her hand. "Sugar, this is Santana, Santana this is my friend Sugar. And this," she motions to Quinn, "is, uh—"

"Quinn."

Brittany nods at Quinn. "Right."

Sugar looks contemplative (though Santana would say the appropriate term is drunk) as she eyes her up and down in the most unsubtle way known to mankind. She giggles loudly then, a high-pitched sound that makes Santana widen her eyes in a "what the hell" way, before she turns to face Brittany again. She slurs something in her ear that makes Brittany smirk and after a dramatic "see you later", she walks back into the heart of the party.

"So where does a girl get a drink around here?" Quinn suddenly asks.

Brittany chuckles. "Come with me."

* * *

It's an hour into the party and Santana has never felt so out of place. She's still on her first glass of whatever it is Brittany mixed for her, and she lost Quinn in the mass of writhing bodies about twenty minutes ago. The music is so loud her ears are buzzing and she's been sitting on a crimson red leather couch for the last fifteen minutes, stuck between an obnoxiously horny gay couple and a seemingly passed out girl. She would get up if it weren't for the fact the girl is now using her lap as a pillow.

After she'd mixed her and Quinn a drink, Brittany had been pulled away by a girl Santana recognized as Mackenzie. She told Santana she'd come back in a few minutes but after ten minutes of standing like statues, Quinn got bored and said she'd go dance for a bit. She'd been eyeing a guy with dreadlocks rather blatantly and quickly walked her way towards him. Santana decided to walk around as well, only more out of obligation than anything else. The makeshift bar was getting crowded and she didn't want to be the awkward one at a party standing like a creep.

After wandering around and even getting lost for a bit (seriously, this was more the size of the Death Star than a mansion), a girl almost spilled her drink on her shirt. After a spew of apologies, the girl named Tina introduced Santana to her boyfriend Mike, a really nice guy that Santana found herself easily talking to. He was obviously a bit buzzed, though his overly cheerful voice made Santana think he was more on a sugar high than actually drunk. Ten minutes into the conversation, Santana found out Tina and him knew Sam because they'd gone to the same high school together and had been friends since.

It was one of those moments where Santana really wondered if everyone on campus was connected in some way or another. It was weird though, that Mike and Tina were still obviously friends with Brittany and her group if Sam himself couldn't stand them. Something had clearly happened, but Santana wasn't sure she actually wanted to know. She'd have to tell Sam about the party and meeting Tina and Mike, and she wasn't ready for the disapproval that would probably come. He wasn't her father or anything, but she still felt like it was some kind of breach of friendship since he'd expressed his bitter feelings towards Brittany very clearly.

After Mike had started feeling the need to dance, Santana had let the couple walk back to the dance-floor while she found Quinn once again. She seemed excited because Joe, or whatever his name was, had already stuck his tongue down her throat and asked her out on a date. Santana didn't have the heart to tell her she'd seen him right before meeting Tina and Mike, his hands all over another girl's ass. So much for that huge cross tattoo on his shoulder and those bible quotes on his neck and arms. The guy was obviously not a virgin Jesus. Nevertheless, Quinn had quickly gone back to dance as well, and Santana had plopped herself on the couch.

Now she's half tempted to discreetly leave, her fingers itching to either paint or tap away on her keyboard in the comfort of her own room. Snoozing girl on her lap is still completely passed out and Santana is starting to be afraid she might drool all over her. But just when she's starting to shift as slowly as possible, Brittany's voice rings in her ears.

"There you are."

She glances up at her and blinks, the unusual situation making her squirm a bit.

Brittany laughs when she sees the girl on her lap, and swiftly crouches down. "I have no idea who that is, but that can't possibly be comfortable."

Santana bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. "Could you maybe, um, help?"

Brittany smiles and proceeds to pull the girl off of Santana, laying her on the other side of the couch. She looks back at Santana. "Sorry I was gone so long, Mack was annoying the shit out of me."

Santana shrugs. "It's all right..."

Brittany looks at her for a few seconds before her smile turns into a small smirk. She holds out her hand and asks, "Dance with me?"

Santana freezes. "I don't really..."

"Come on... You didn't come here to sit down all night did you?"

"Well no, but I—"

"Then dance with me," Brittany says, voice softer. "Please."

Santana is taken aback by the plea (somehow it just sounds so foreign coming from Brittany) but after a few seconds of staring at her hand, she shyly grabs it and stands up. "Okay."

Brittany walks her towards the dance floor and spins her with a smile, making Santana blush and bite her lip. She swallows when she feels Brittany behind her, holding her hips and starting to move. Now she knows how to technically dance, but this is real in a crowded room and with someone else that obviously likes her on some level, god knows why, and _holy Vader what am I doing_.

She tries concentrating on the loud music and not the way Brittany's hands feel on her hips, though really it's the only thing she can think about. She does her best at moving in the least awkward way possible as Brittany gets closer to her, her front pressing against her back. Santana's breath hitches when she feels Brittany hold her closer, her mouth now inches away from her ear.

"Having fun?" She asks, loud enough for Santana to hear but still low enough for it to feel like a whisper. It makes Santana shiver and she nods mindlessly.

"Yeah," she stammers, the warm breath on her ear making the small hairs on her arm stand.

Brittany grins. "Good."

They keep dancing for a few minutes until Mackenzie appears, pushing two people out of her way and dancing next to Brittany, smirking at her. Santana isn't sure what happens next but she can feel Brittany's hands hold her tighter and closer, until she hears Mackenzie slur in Brittany's direction. "You move fast bitch."

Brittany freezes for a second before Santana hears her growl at the other girl. "Fuck off, Mack."

Mackenzie laughs; a fake, arrogant laugh that makes Santana's heart pound all of a sudden, because she sounds more than drunk and Santana is starting to feel nervous.

"Is that what you're gonna do after your little dance?" She snickers. "_Fuck_ off?"

Brittany tenses and Santana can almost hear her take a deep breath to control herself, even if the music somehow got louder. "Let it go," she says.

"Why?" Mackenzie spats out, taking a step closer to them. Santana swallows before she tries moving out of Brittany's grasp, feeling anxious at how Mackenzie eyes the way Brittany is gripping her hips. "You're obviously not."

She stares menacingly before Brittany lets go of Santana and looks at her with venom in her eyes. She grips her arm and pushes her through the crowd before Santana hears an angered "You're fucking drunk" over the confusion ringing in her ears.

As she stands still she can feel people starting to make her lose her balance a bit, so she walks her way out of the mass and over to the kitchen she spotted earlier. She stumbles out the back door, swallowing the fear clogged in her throat and walking past the couple heavily making out on the far right, bodies pushed against the wall of the house. She turns at the corner and drops herself on the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest. She can still hear the music and the shouts, the booming laughs and feet stamping on the floor. In a way it calms her—knowing that no one cares about her hasty escape, that she isn't the center of mockery or judgmental stares. She just feels confused and alone. How did she think this was a good idea?

Her fingers grip the grass at her sides and rip it out. It's the best distraction for now. She can't go back after what happened with Brittany and Mackenzie. She isn't sure what that was even about, but it didn't sound like anything good. She's also still confused about half the things she felt when they danced. Well… when _Brittany _danced against her while she stood like a petrified moron.

"Santana?"

She jolts when she hears the voice, her blood freezing and her hands pausing mid grass-ripping.

"Sant—there you are."

She looks up at Brittany furtively before she looks down again, not knowing what to really say.

Brittany smiles at the sight in front of her before she clears her throat. "Mind if I sit?"

Santana isn't sure if she minds or not but shakes her head regardless.

Brittany sits down next to her, her back hitting the brick wall with a soft thump. There's silence for a few minutes—something Santana usually likes when she's alone but feels incredibly uncomfortable with when she's with someone. She tries coming up with something, anything really, but Brittany beats her to it.

"I'm sorry…" she starts, "Mack was being a bitch."

Santana hesitates before trying to come up with an answer, but Brittany's voice is different than what she expected. It's contemplative and amused.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, I shouldn't have…" Santana trails off, not sure what she's trying to say. She does feel the need to apologize for her sucky dancing skills though.

Brittany chuckles softly. "What are you sorry for?"

"For… well, I, um..."

Brittany looks at her with a glint in her eye and a smile—more dangerous this time, like the time she looked at her in the cafeteria. Santana feels like she's only a pawn and Brittany is playing her just right. As if she's saying exactly what the other girl expects her to say.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Santana?"

Santana widens her eyes, swallowing nervously when Brittany seems so much closer to her all of a sudden. "N-no I was just—"

"Come dance with me again?"

Santana hesitates.

"Come on," Brittany coaxes. "I promise Mack will stay away."

Santana opens her mouth and closes it, still unsure she wants a repeat from only a few moments ago. But Brittany is looking at her with soft eyes and a small smile now, and Santana can't help but nod and stand up. Brittany takes her hand, making Santana feel warmer than she ever has, and walks them back towards the dance floor, though not in the middle of it this time.

They dance face to face, which Santana admits makes her much more at ease. Brittany laughs when she does a silly move with her hands (Santana likes to call it the lazy stripper), and then takes both her hands to encourage her to dance more.

"It's all in the hips," she says playfully, shouting a bit over the music.

Santana nods with a smile, feeling herself loosen up as the minutes pass and the energy strums through her body. She could totally do this all night.

But then Brittany looks at her more seriously, with something in her eyes that makes Santana nervous. Not because it scares her, but because she has an idea she's looking back at Brittany the exact same way. She can't pinpoint the feeling exactly, but in the moment she almost wishes the other girl was holding her closer like the first time.

It's only five minutes later that Brittany twirls her and grips her hips again, smiling at her confidently. "Is this okay?" She asks.

Santana nods, high on this buzzing feeling that screams "why not".

If this is how Peter Parker felt when he got bit, veins burning and heart thumping loudly, then Santana may have just bumped Spiderman as her favorite comic book. Sam would certainly approve.

Brittany holds her tighter after a few minutes, her moves more languid and slow but still in rhythm with the music.

Santana can feel Brittany's breath near her ear, warm and in short gasps, and her hands on her hips, holding her closer and closer as she pushes her body into her. She feels the beads of sweat roll down her back, something she would be ashamed about if it weren't for the fact Brittany's breast are now pressed up against her and there's nothing else she can think about. She gets hotter just thinking about it, both because she's blushing furiously and also because her breath is getting ragged and Brittany's hands are growing bolder, sliding under the hem of her shirt so they're touching heated skin.

It's so much, too much, and she knows she should tell her to stop, knows this is nothing like her usual self. But somehow it feels good, so good she can't help the moan escaping her lips and the way her ass pushes back into Brittany by some wanton reflex, making the girl behind her smile against her skin. She feels Brittany grow more eager by the second, her lips humming against her neck and her breath making her skin tickle. Her mouth travels from her neck to her ear, peppering wet kisses, and she trembles again, this time because she feels a tug in between her thighs and a knot in her stomach.

"You are so damn fuckable," Brittany husks near her ear, voice dripping with want and intent. The alcohol on her breath is more noticeable now for some reason, and the way her fingers slide higher under Santana's t-shirt is all too much again. Santana whimpers, squirming out of the other girl's grasp and bolting through the crowd, skin ablaze and thoughts a mess. She hears a faint "Wait!" but pays no attention to it, forgetting everything and everyone as she runs through the front door with wobbly legs.

* * *

**A/N: Yikes I took a while to update there. Exams are done though :) Please review if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer!**


	5. Chapter 5

When she trips over her own feet and tries to soften the blow with her hands, Santana feels the slightly wet grass prick her palms and her nails dig into dirt. She lets out a surprised "omph" and hurries herself back up, snapping her head around to make sure no one saw her fall on her ass. Well, technically, fall on her hands and knees, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing. She tries to recompose herself by whipping her hands on her jeans, but then she remembers they're white as snow and she groans at herself and her less than stellar clothing choices. She looks down and notices the traces of green imbedded in the fabric right above her knee caps. Not only will it be a bitch to wash out, but she also probably has something similar on her ass from where she sat down earlier, which means she's been looking like a moron with dirty white jeans ever since Brittany talked her into coming back inside.

She sighs, because what else can she do really, and looks around as she tries to calm her heart and steady her legs. She still feels like she's been stuffed with cotton and she knows she can't possibly try and go back inside. Her head is buzzing with confusion and she hasn't felt this disoriented since she was shoved and locked into a portable toilet by Lauren Zizes during Senior year. Except there is no Mr. Kinley right now, with his gruff voice and mop, to help her out.

Santana knows she can't exactly leave; Quinn is still inside and Brittany drove them here. She has no idea where to catch a bus and she's starting to regret she didn't bring any cash with her. Still, it takes everything not to bolt through the garden and push the large metal gate open. Her head is still spinning and she wonders what in Marvel's name Brittany put in that drink she mixed earlier for her. She lets out a small resigned grunt before she finally decides to just walk around until Quinn eventually stumbles out to find her.

She thinks about sitting under the large willow and play the only game she has on her taped up phone, but decides against it when she realizes that would be hitting a new low. Instead she walks around the house, looking away with an embarrassed and apologetic look when she comes across the same couple she saw earlier —now grinding against the wall of the mansion— and quickly scurries behind a few shrubs as she reaches the back of the place. She realizes the backdoor she used earlier was actually on the other side, which means the place is really twice as big as she originally thought, and that alone makes her gasp in wonderment. From what she understood, this isn't even where Sebastian's parents live. This is his own home sweet home and he likes to throw parties like this one every week or so. Santana can't imagine the state of the place when everything dies down and people start leaving... but come to think of it, she didn't even catch a glimpse of Sebastian once since she got here, so he mustn't be very wary of who comes in and out, and what breaks or is spilt in his home.

She feels a chill run up her arm and shivers slightly before she notices a gazebo at the back of the garden, glaucous blue with a small bench in the middle. It's odd, to say the least, especially since it seems so out of place in this ocean of green grass and dimmed night lights, but it still makes her fingers twitch and her mouth open in silent awe. As she gets closer she can distinctly see the chipped paint and the small cracks in the wood, making her wonder if it's ever been touched in years. The grass around it is wilder than the neatly mowed front yard, but somehow it ads to the uncanny mystic of it all. It really does feel like stepping into an entirely different atmosphere.

The mansion is incredibly imposing and impressing, but its brick walls are cold and stern, and there's no warmth to it that isn't emitted by the glowing night lights. But here, only a few steps away, Santana finds herself drawn to this wilder side of things. As much as she found the property beautiful when she first saw it, it's nothing compared to the breathtaking softness of this neglected spot. She wouldn't be surprised Sebastian doesn't even know he has a gazebo in his backyard. Of course she doesn't know him at all, save for the few tidbits she heard from Kurt and Sam, so perhaps he's also partial to leaving it as it is and not tame the nature around it.

She walks until she reaches the two wooden steps, knowing they'll crack under her feet before she even sets foot on them. She's still looking at the hidden details around when she hears a crash coming from the mansion, faint but still loud enough for her to be startled and make her head snap to the side. But then it's over with and the music is still pounding, so she stays still for a few seconds, wondering if she should go back instead of walking around like it'll erase the last couple of hours.

It's not that she doesn't want to think about it really, but then she rewinds what happened over and over again, and she hears words like "fuckable" and it makes her knees weak and the lump in her throat grow the size of Jabba the Hutt. She knows she shouldn't feel like this; Brittany is most likely playing a little number on her, just as Sam warned her she would, but she hopes everyone has been dead wrong and that she's actually... desirable to someone for once in her life.

Is that so wrong to want?

She looks behind her as soon as the thought enters her mind, because somehow right after that she sees Lauren Zizes and hears that loud mocking cackle, followed by a slushie shower by none other than the cheerleading captain. What she'd done to them to deserve it she doesn't know, but she still shivers when she remembers the icy prickle of the drink down her back. They were always there when her confidence was at its highest, making sure to bring her right down afterwards. She knew she was worth something, that much her mother had been sure of teaching her as she grew up, but after months and months of hearing words like "worthless" or "friendless", it'd been hard to continue convincing herself. Still, she made it through while most of those girls were still stuck in Bothell, wondering why their fickle high school popularity hadn't guaranteed them a spot in prestigious colleges. The best way to look at it, Santana thinks, is that she's definitely the one laughing now.

Except... except she isn't really laughing because here she is, with clammy palms and jumbled thoughts, wondering how she even got here in the first place. Alone and confused. It doesn't change much, does it?

She lets out a defeated sigh before she looks up and notices ivy and wisteria trailing down and up the beams of the gazebo and the roof, adding to its lonely, untouched charm. She finally walks up the two small steps and stands in front of the small bench for a second before she sits down. It creaks a little but not enough to make her think it'll collapse under the added weight, so she reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone, curious when she feels it buzz.

_11:04pm [Quinn Fabray]: Gonna leave with Joe. t__ext you tomorrow for the project_

Shit. Santana is torn between hitting her forehead or bolting all over again. She knows she should have told Quinn about seeing Joe with that other girl, but somehow it slipped her mind until now and she can easily see Quinn being pissed she spent the night with a serial douchebag. This is probably the worst start for a friendship in the making. Then again, Quinn is a big girl, and Santana is sure she got by just fine before meeting her...

She groans in frustration, because this party is starting to create issues that are prone to the snowball effect and the music from afar is still resonating like a gong that's been hit by a hammer.

"Bad news?"

She jumps, startled, and her eyes snap back up, trailing over long legs and a blue top, now darker with the dimmed lights that barely reach the gazebo, and finally settling on thin lips and catlike eyes. It shouldn't take her this long to answer, but somehow she's at a loss for words, paralyzed by a feeling she can't pinpoint.

Instead she settles for, "Brittany."

Brittany smiles softly, but seems to regret it because as soon as Santana notices the curve of her lips it's gone. She opens her mouth and then closes it, which makes Santana frown in confused wonderment. Brittany finally sighs and leans against the wooden beam of the gazebo, looking at Santana with hesitant eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Santana doesn't know what to say or do; she's the one feeling like a complete fool after all; so she stays silent, desperately trying to come up with something to say that'd cut through this tension.

Thankfully, Brittany cuts off her thoughts. "That was... I shouldn't have said that. When we were dancing I mean... I shouldn't have said _that_."

Santana shrugs wordlessly, not really knowing what else to do. She does feel bad for the expression on Brittany's face though. "It's okay..."

Brittany shakes her head, taking a step forward. "But it's not. I've been doing nothing but making you uncomfortable all night, and I feel like a complete dumbass."

"The thing is..." she continues, her eyes falling on Santana's lips for a small second. "I like you."

Santana looks at Brittany with a furrowed brow. "You like me?"

Brittany nods. "I do. But I've—well, I've been getting my point across horribly. I shouldn't have cornered you like that at the library, or forced you to dance earlier. That was wrong of me."

Santana bites her lip.

Brittany continues, shifting so she's not leaning against the beam but walking towards the bench. She sits down, letting a gap between them, and angles her body completely towards Santana's. "I want to... do this right. If you'd like me to, of course."

Santana blinks.

"I want to take you out on a date next Friday. Just you and me; no students, no Mackenzie, no... Quinn."

"You mean, like a—a _real_ date?" Santana asks, though she does feel stupid doing so. She's just not sure she heard Brittany right, she couldn't have...

To her surprise, the girl chuckles. It's a lighthearted laugh that breaks the heavy tension and makes Santana smile without even knowing why. But she knows that laugh; it reminds her of her mother's and it makes her heart clench in the best possible way. It's so... _familiar, _so good to hear.

"Do fake dates exist? I mean, they must I guess," Brittany wonders aloud, smile still hooked to her lips. "But yes, this would be..." she looks at the other girl amusingly, "a real date."

Santana can feel the blush creep up her cheeks, which once more makes her grateful for her darker skin tone. Brittany has this ability of making her comfortable and tense at the same time, and it's the only thing that's preventing her from saying yes. What is it that makes Brittany so unlikable in Sam's eyes? She's forward, yes, but Santana can't possibly think of a situation where that would have pushed the boy to his limits. And Santana has noticed how calm he usually is, so very quiet if the conversation doesn't particularly interest him. A guy like that would need to have been seriously pissed off to carry so much anger, and for such a long period of time too. She doesn't understand how he even knows her since he's a freshman as well. On second thought, Mike did mention earlier that Tina and him were at the same high school Sam had been to, so maybe Brittany had been there as well? Either way, Santana couldn't see anything vicious in Brittany. She made her feel different—good different. _Noticed_.

"So what do you say?" Brittany reiterates.

Santana had bolted before, overwhelmed, but she won't make the same mistake. "I think I'd like that."

"Aces," Brittany says, seeming relieved and grinning goofily. It makes Santana chuckle, her nervousness loosening easily as she hears the (once more) familiar term. Sam uses it all the time when he's particularly happy or enthusiastic, a somewhat nerdy trait that always makes Kurt melt (he would deny it, but Santana is a great observer).

She notices how Brittany is smiling then, her eyes staring right at her. It makes her slightly nervous again, how Brittany can just look at her boring self and find it interesting enough to stare, so she squirms a bit and looks at her folded hands, still resting on her lap.

"So..." Brittany starts. "How about we get out of here?"

Santana looks at her with confusion etched on her face before she manages to nod.

* * *

When Brittany drives silently along the road, face concentrated and eyes narrowed, Santana realizes she hasn't seen much of the city at all. She's been to many places outside of Bothell, her mother always calling their old road-trips or holidays small adventures, and she's probably seen more cities and monuments than someone well above their sixties. It's just how her parents raised her, especially before they divorced, and she's always been grateful for the incredible sights and cultures she's been able to witness. Of course some details are hazier than others, and she doesn't always remember things her mother sometimes mentions, but the memories she does recollect from around the world are the ones she cherishes the most. So to realize only now, after years of living only an hour away, that she's not that familiar with Seattle... well, it makes her feel like she's walking (driving, really) on unknown territory.

When Brittany finally parks the car and asks her, "Have you ever been here?"; here being a rather flat and grassy hilltop; Santana is at a loss for words and feels like a complete tourist. So she shakes her head in what she knows is a sheepish way.

Brittany laughs at the expression on her face, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her door. "Come on then I'll show you, it's really cool."

Santana gets out of the car and is surprised when she looks up to see Brittany right in front of her, hand extended and eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"Didn't I tell you I was gonna behave?" She smirks.

Santana doesn't hesitate for too long before she finally takes her hand, the warm palm against hers making her heart beat faster. Brittany isn't shy regarding what she wants, that much is sure, but Santana has also promised herself that she wouldn't run away anymore. Her mother always told her to never push herself too far if she ever felt anxious or uncomfortable, but she figures a small nudge in the right direction can't hurt.

She stays close to Brittany when they walk towards the end of the hill, the night already dark without its stars, curtesy of a persistently cloudy Seattle.

"Okay close your eyes."

Santana pauses. "What?"

"Close your eyes," Brittany repeats, tone still playful and light.

"All right..."

Santana finally closes her eyes after taking a deep breath to calm herself, feeling reassured when Brittany gently squeezes her hand.

"Okay, I promise I'm not trying to imitate Jack Dawson, but..." Brittany trails off, "this is worth being in the dark for just a sec."

She guides Santana until they reach the near end of the cliff, and stands behind her, letting go of her hand so she can hold her waist with her two hands instead. She leans down until her lips are hovering over Santana's ear and whispers, "Open your eyes."

Santana exhales in awe at the sight, mouth sightly agape and eyes now wide open. Thousands and thousands of small lights flickering in the sea of black, some redder or greener than others, some smaller but still bright in the dark of the night, all illuminating a city that Santana has never found as beautiful as she does now. She hadn't even realized they had driven completely out of the city, though the complete lack of traffic on the route here should have been her first clue. Still she can't believe this is something she's missed. She's seen a lot of things... like the Taj Mahal when she was eight and the Pyramid of Giza when she was ten, but this... this is _home_, and it's somehow just as breathtaking. She just had no idea.

She looks down then, but gasps when she realizes they're closer to the edge of the hill than she thought, and she can see the steep darkness below her better than she can see her feet. "I've got you," Brittany murmurs, now holding her closer and tighter, but still somewhat loose enough for Santana to have been scared she wasn't behind her anymore.

It's so peaceful up here that Santana feels like Brittany has just shown her the most secret spot in the world.

"I love it here," Brittany whispers again. "There's nothing like it. You can scream at the top of your lungs and no one will hear you."

Santana feels the corner of her lip twitch curiously. "Have you ever?"

Brittany tenses just a bit for Santana to start turning around, but then she feels her arms tighten around her waist and she stops herself. "Once," Brittany admits.

She doesn't add anything to it so Santana knows better than to push her. Instead, she sighs, letting the silence that follows settle comfortably. It isn't awkward like it was when Brittany drove Quinn and her to the party, but it's definitely charged with something Santana can't pinpoint.

After a minute or two of reveling in the feel of Brittany so close to her, she finally turns around and shyly asks, "Why bring me here?"

Brittany's usual confident smile softens. "I was a moron tonight. Mack was being an ass, Sugar was... Sugar, and I know you didn't have that much fun either. So call this my cheesy apology."

Santana smiles back, a silent thank you that the other girl understands.

"Come on let's go," Brittany says, "I'll drive you back to the campus."

* * *

It's a bit over 11:50pm when Brittany parks the car and they walk into the housing facility, showing their campus ID at the entrance and quickly walking into an already open elevator. Brittany's phone buzzes loudly in her pocket, but it can't be too important because she doesn't reach out to take it. Instead she settles her hand on Santana's lower back as they walk down the corridor of the seventh floor.

"This is my dorm room," Santana states, stopping in front of the door with a nervous stance. Brittany seems surprised, or maybe taken aback would suit the expression on her face better, because she looks at Santana's door number and then back at... Ah. Santana realizes Brittany probably didn't make the connection she lives right in front of Mackenzie. Hesitant, she clears her throat. "Thank you for tonight..."

Brittany shrugs, looking at her with soft eyes. "It was no problem. The least I could do really, after the party and all."

Santana shakes her head, wanting Brittany to know how much that doesn't matter anymore. None of it does. "That's okay. I still had a great time..." she bites her bottom lip, feeling her cheeks and neck get slightly warmer. "Afterwards... especially."

Brittany smirks, nodding in agreement. "It's a great view. Everyone should see it once in their life."

Santana agrees; but most of all she feels overjoyed Brittany cared enough to share that moment with her. She'd made her feel like she was on top of the city, better than Lois Lane probably ever felt flying around with Superman.

"I'll text you soon," Brittany says, amused by the blank expression on Santana's thoughtful face.

Blinking at Brittany's words, it takes a second for Santana to snap out of it and nod, slightly timid. "Okay."

"Well... goodnight then."

"Goodnight..."

Brittany smiles playfully before she looks at Santana purposely, making the smaller girl shift in place. Santana is completely entranced, dark brown lost in cerulean blue. Her lips slightly part as Brittany leans in, her gaze never wavering.

She closes her eyes before she feels Brittany brush her lips against hers, soft and warm and over in a blink. She opens her eyes when Brittany pulls back, smile etched on her face. "Sweet dreams."

She winks before walking away, leaving Santana completely flustered. As soon as she turns the corner of the corridor she takes out her phone and reads Sebastian's message, knowing already what he's reminding her of.

_11:53pm [SebSmythe]: You know for a female Don Juan you're taking longer than I expected, Pierce. You backing out?_

Brittany takes a moment before she answers, hesitating as she hovers over the keypad. She frowns for a small second before she finally utters a word for her ears only and types her answer out.

_12:01am: As if. Friday she'll be putty in my hands. Get your $200 ready gelboy._


	6. Chapter 6

When her alarm, high-pitched and goddamn annoying, cuts through her dreams of blue night-lights and watercolor hilltops, Santana groans into her pillow and quickly grabs her phone on the nightstand, effectively turning it off. She plops her head back onto her pillow, the warm blanket covering her body beckoning her to stay. It's only Sunday after all, and she hasn't slept this well in a long while.

Eyes fatigued but still open, she revels in the soft feel of the mattress and how it molds to her body. The sheets are light but warm, and she wonders why she never realized her bed back home is hard like a rock and overly squeaky with springs. The first time she slept here she thought that come morning she'd be begging to get back to her own bedroom and just commute for the rest of the year, but after one long restful night and waking up with no kinks in her back or neck, she realized this room was actually quite nice. Sure it's a bit cramped and the blinds are rather hideous compared to her thick beige curtains back in Bothell, but somehow she made it feel like home. Besides, the blinds prevent the harsh glows of light from burning her eyelids first thing in the morning, which all and all is the only thing that matters.

Santana hums quietly as she stares at the ceiling, fingers toying with the cover just a bit, and tries piecing together everything that happened yesterday. She briefly wonders if she should call Quinn, but the thought quickly vanishes after she remembers her last text. She doesn't want to disturb her if she's still with Joe, and she certainly doesn't want to be at the end of her bitterness if the guy just "humped and dumped", as she once heard coming from two guys in a coffee shop. She doesn't really know what the protocol is in these situations, but she doesn't want to risk upsetting Quinn since they still have their project to start and it'd be delicate for them to work together with an awkward mood. Then again, Santana knows she shouldn't get herself too involved. Quinn probably knew what she was doing and still probably does. Santana, on the other hand, is still completely in limbo.

She wets her bottom lip in a thoughtful manner as she thinks about the last part of the evening, and soon she feels her lips tingle in the most pleasant way. Her mouth curls into the smallest smile and she feels her body buzz with energy, suddenly aware and _alive_ with everything she feels. She remembers the soft careful press of Brittany's lips on hers and can't help but bury her head into her pillow, grinning like a crushing schoolgirl. It was only the softest peck, almost a timid brush of lips against lips, but it still feels like the most important moment in her life. She knows she probably looks ridiculous with that foolish smile on her face, even worth laughing at, but she really can't help it if her grin reaches her ears and her hearts beats unsteadily—and even if she could somehow get ahold of herself, she wouldn't know where to start.

(She's always been one to define things and feelings, but here she's stuck in between the vast array of words that exist from 'incredible' to 'surreal'.)

A part of her is screaming at her to slap herself, to shake her shoulders and ask herself if this isn't a bit fishy; because who is she kidding, Brittany isn't just your average person or regular student... she's, well, _Brittany,_ this modern blonde daredevil who somehow thinks Santana is worth her time; but then there's this other part, the bigger and stronger one, that just tells her to stop being so afraid of getting stabbed in the back and just appreciate at best the way she feels. Feeling like this can't possibly be wrong, but if it is, she realizes she quite likes breaking the law.

Her phone starts ringing again, making Santana's heart jump as she remembers she always sets up a second alarm. She really needs to change the time on that thing (9am on a Sunday is kind of rough), but not one for falling asleep after waking up, she lets herself kick back the covers with her feet while she shuts the annoying sound off. She feels a quick chill crawl up her legs as she stretches her arms over her head and yawns, sleep still making her moves slower and her eyes blink more. She walks to the blinds and pulls on the small cord to open them, groaning when they get stuck about halfway through. She pauses before she concedes that yeah, all right, maybe the dorms aren't top notch in terms of quality, but at least there aren't bedbugs bitting her ass. Finally she manages to unstick the damn thing with her own hands, dust lodging itself under her nails and flying around the window. She sighs and takes a minute to look at the campus, her view making up for this early crap morning.

She almost grabs her smallest blank canvas, still lodged in between her desk and the small chest of drawers she piles her various books and supplies on, her fingers itching to hold a brush and her eyes mesmerized by the fall colors and warm morning hues. She's about to make up her mind when she hears her phone again, the small buzz this time indicating it isn't her alarm but a text. Her heart almost skips a beat when she reads Brittany's name with the [1] message alert blinking underneath.

_09:10am [Brittany Pierce]: You're probably still sleeping but I swear my fingers just started texting without my consent. Anyway have a nice day, and I'll see you tomorrow ;)_

Santana chuckles at the first part but frowns confusedly at the second, not sure she's reading it right... Well actually she's pretty convinced she's reading it right, she just doesn't know if her interpretation is on point. Tomorrow her day is relatively full, between her seminar class and her english and rhetoric one later in the afternoon, and she doesn't know if Brittany is high or just messing with her, but since it's pretty early in the morning and Brittany doesn't actually _seem_ like a pothead, Santana goes for the second option. Then again... Brittany has this surprising side to her that's telling Santana she means every word on that text, and she's starting to feel the now familiar nervous feeling twist and turn in her stomach.

* * *

The next morning comes faster than a speeding bullet and next thing she knows, Santana is one step out of the dorms ready to walk to her english class. She's pretty sure the teacher is an alcoholic —or else she just really has bad breath issues— so Monday mornings are usually void of anything stressful. From what Santana got, Ms. Rhodes isn't interested in teaching at all. Most of the time she comes in with dark circles under her eyes or sunglasses, which really is the opposite of trying to be discreet. She gives out quizzes she forgets to pick up at the end and dozes off for a couple of minutes here and there. Santana doesn't really mind; she can work on her assignments for other classes or finish up some Sudokus Sam was too frustrated to complete while still pulling off an A. Really it's a win-win. For her, of course.

She smiles happily when a small morning breeze hits her, making her think of simpler times from over ten years, when she'd roll around in leaves and grass with her mother, their laughs making their cheeks hurt and their stomachs ache. Silly memories like that always make it worth it, Santana thinks, because really they overpower any dark shadows or heavy thoughts creeping in her mind. Of course she has paint too, which helps her focus on only one thing and prevents her from driving herself crazy with endless questions.

Yesterday she'd lost herself in soft strokes of paint and bold colors, not wanting to over think Brittany's last message. Of course that'd been hard at first. Brittany is the hardest enigma she's ever encountered. No Sudoku tactic can crack that code, that much is sure. It's frustrating for someone who lives for answers, and yet Santana finds herself liking the mystery of it all. She realizes she knows next to nothing about Brittany; only small tidbits she's heard from others —not the most positive words— or that she deducted herself; but she also came to understand that's what draws her in the most. Brittany makes her feel puzzled and nervous because she's unreadable; she's like a female Sly Cooper, only not so much on the raccoon part. Subtle but to the point, cocky but not in the slimy Noah Puckerman way, impulsive but not brash—

"Hey you."

—and entirely unpredictable.

Santana turns around when she hears the feminine voice, her eyes wide open and her lips parted. "Brittany," she breathes out.

She's surprised she hasn't heard her footsteps on the concrete path across campus, but then again it's not the first time she's taken aback like this.

"Thought I'd catch you before you left the building, but you move faster than I thought," Brittany chuckles.

Santana tries hiding a small smile but ends up biting her lip too quickly, making herself wince.

"Do you mind me walking with you?" Brittany asks.

Santana's mouth forms an "o" before she shakes her head. "Of course not! I—I mean, I don't mind at all," she says, albeit a bit too excitedly for her liking. The last thing she wants is for Brittany to run for the hills thinking she's some kind of lonely overeager weirdo. But Brittany surprises her once again, looking at her like she's the most fascinating person she's ever met. Santana knows she most likely isn't, but the feeling is still nice.

"Which class are you headed to?"

"Um english, and then I've got the freshman seminar."

Brittany snorts. "Damn they should really get rid of that class."

Santana bites her lips as she shrugs. It isn't something she'd want to repeat, but she did meet Sam there, and the random topics and debates are actually kind of interesting sometimes. It's still the most boring class she's ever taken in her life, but it does have _some_ redeeming qualities. "Well to be honest," Santana starts, "it's actually not that bad. Just kind of slow."

She smiles, amused, when Brittany's nose scrunches up. "Really? I was always falling asleep."

"Well if you were sleeping, how could you know it was bad?"

"Touché," Brittany laughs, "I guess you're right."

They walk slowly on the path, both wanting to drag this out. Santana holds the strap of her shoulder bag a bit tighter, giving her left hand something to do as the right one twitches nervously. Silence settles around them as she racks her brain, desperately trying to come up with something clever and engaging, or even flirty if she can manage that. After a few seconds she rolls her eyes at herself and almost even laughs, because trying to flirt would most likely result in her sweating buckets._ Not_ attractive, she mutters.

"What?" Brittany asks, hearing Santana's muffled words.

Crap! Santana widens her eyes before she hastily stutters out, "So what's your major?"

Her cheeks turn hot as Brittany looks at her curiously, her eyes questioning but soft. She finally chuckles quietly before answering, "Journalism."

Santana is surprised by the answer. Not because she doesn't think it suits her, but because she didn't even know it was a possible major here.

"You look confused," Brittany smiles.

Santana shakes her head. "No it's just um, I didn't know that Journalism was a major here."

Brittany sighs as she looks ahead, sliding her fingers in her hair until she reaches the light blue feather tangled in it. Santana peeks at her from the side, not looking away for the first time when Brittany meets her eyes immediately.

"It's definitely not the best school for it," Brittany admits, finally breaking their gaze. She looks unsettled and taken aback, which makes Santana stare at the ground and watch her step. She's puzzled by the way Brittany swallows almost nervously, but tries focusing on her words instead. She does want to know more about her, after all.

"There are a lot of better colleges, but I couldn't go anywhere else."

"Why not?" Santana asks, curious to know.

Brittany shrugs. "It just wasn't in the cards." There's something in her eyes Santana can't decipher, but it almost seems like regret and bitterness. The shimmering blue seem darker; almost clouded; but she snaps out of it rapidly, leaving Santana to ask herself if she didn't imagine the tiny moment.

"I wanted to dance too anyway, so it was perfect." Brittany adds, now much more collected. "And since this is an art school, we do a lot of video editing based on the projects assigned, so it's definitely less linear than your go-to journalism course… but I kinda like that it allows more creative freedom. It's more along the lines of experimental journalism."

"That sounds really cool actually," Santana says.

Brittany agrees with a hum.

They walk side by side until they reach the building Santana has her english class in. Students walk in for the most part, some still outside smoking or stalling, others talking to friends or on the phone. Santana looks around before she settles her gaze back on Brittany. "So... I'll see you around... maybe?" Santana says, though it comes out as a hopeful question. She really enjoyed walking with Brittany, and she hopes Brittany did too.

"Actually," Brittany smiles knowingly, "how about we get lunch together tomorrow?"

"You mean like a... date?"

"Nope, that's Friday," Brittany winks. "But I thought we could get to know each other a bit more before, what do you say?"

Santana glances at her with a shy smile before she nods. "I'd like that."

"Awesome, I'll wait at the cafeteria then. Is 12:30 good?"

"Yeah, that's perfect."

"I'll see you then Miss Lopez," Brittany smirks.

"How did you kn—"

"You've got it sewn on the front of your bag," Brittany chuckles.

"Oh. Right," Santana blushes, groaning internally in embarrassment. There's only her to have a small embroidered name-tag on her bag. She feels eleven all over again, watching her mother handle a needle and thread. _Jesus, it's been that long? Maybe I ought to buy a new bag... _

Brittany isn't mocking or judgmental though; she smiles genuinely as she says, "Have a nice day."

She turns around and walks away, leaving Santana to watch her with a deep enamored gaze.

* * *

Monday passed easily enough, save when Santana got uncomfortable when Sam asked her about her weekend. She felt bad lying to him, but whatever was happening between Brittany and her was too new for her to even consider confiding in Sam. She didn't want him to think she didn't care about his opinion, but she also didn't want to lose his friendship by being involved with the person he seemed to despise so purely. She was still going to try to be cautious with Brittany, since she did trust Sam and his words, but she wouldn't stay away either just because there was a feud no one would really explain. It wasn't her type to put people into boxes according to someone else's judgment.

As she saw Brittany in the cafeteria on Tuesday, her heart leapt in her throat and she smiled back, eager to spend time with her. She was starting to feel much more at ease with her, and could only say yes when Brittany came up with a small change of plans. They took their trays of food out of the cafeteria (Santana felt a bit like a thief, but she couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline as they passed the doors of the building), careful to not let anything fall as they walked as fast as possible across the campus. Santana mechanically laughed out loud as Brittany tripped goofily on the grass of one of the parks, catching herself on her knees. She started laughing as well, looking over at Santana as she picked up her (fortunately) wrapped sandwich.

"Are you making fun of me?" Brittany manages to ask between two laughs.

Santana tries stopping as she shakes her head, now one step away from Brittany. "No of course not!" She chortles out.

Brittany grins as she grabs Santana's ankles, making her shriek as she pulls her down. "Brittany!"

Santana exhales loudly as she falls on her ass with the tray still awkwardly balanced in her hands, Brittany now looking at her smugly. "Now who's laughing?"

She opens her mouth in amused disbelief. "You are unbelievable."

"Why thank you, I get that a lot," Brittany says suggestively, a playful smirk at the corner of her lips.

Santana blushes, looking down at her tray. "Well, um, let's start... eating," she stammers.

Brittany chuckles low and turns a bit so that she's now sitting in front of Santana, her own tray to her side as Santana's rests in the middle.

They eat quietly at first, the first silence Santana feels comfortable with, before Brittany starts asking her things like why she chose her major or what she likes to do when she has free time. Santana answers easily for the most part, avoiding going into details like the amount of time she spends on the internet or the plethora of comic books she has stocked in her room back in Bothell. She explains she loves drawing and painting because it makes her feel peaceful and helps her creative juices, which Brittany smiles at. Santana feels more and more at ease as the conversation goes, but finds herself growing curiouser about Brittany too.

"What's your favorite movie?" She wants to know, settling for something casual to ask at first.

Brittany takes a moment pondering before she chuckles, swallowing the last bite of her donut. "You'll think it's stupid…"

Santana shakes her head, "I could never." She doesn't know why it comes out sounding so serious, but she wants Brittany to know that judging people isn't who she is. She's been at the end of intolerance enough to despise it with every fiber of her being.

"Charlie's Angels."

Santana blinks. "Why would I think that's stupid? They were badass."

Brittany smiles as she shrugs. "I don't know, it's kinda silly I guess, but I always wanted to be one of them... I'd even go on these missions with my little sister. We'd make guns out of tinfoil and dead branches, dress up all in black... even use garbage cans to hide," she laughs at the silliness. "She was only like four and I'd string her along everywhere."

"That's really sweet actually," Santana says, a small smile playing on her lips.

Brittany shrugs, growing more serious. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I'm an only child."

"Do you like it?"

Santana bites her lip, looking down at her hands. "It has its ups and downs. My parents would have never traveled as much with me if they had more children, so that was pretty nice. But... I don't know, sometimes it gets kind of lonely I guess."

"Any cousins?"

"Yeah... I have a few actually. I'm close to some, but we never really talk outside of family reunions and stuff, which aren't that often. My father has a lot of brothers and sisters but they're kind of estranged."

"That sucks," Brittany says.

"Yeah..." Santana sighs out.

* * *

The week passes in similar fashion, with Brittany asking Santana if she wants to eat with her again on Wednesday and Thursday. Santana agrees for Thursday because Sam and Kurt usually sit with her on Wednesday, to which Brittany answers with a quick nod and shifty eyes. Santana tries bringing Sam into the conversation again to maybe get another reaction, but instead Brittany changes the topic almost seamlessly.

Brittany still manages to surprise Santana on Wednesday, this time walking with her in the morning again. They take small steps as they walk across the relatively calm campus for now. Santana feels good with Brittany, much more like herself and less cautious or awkward. She likes listening to her and answering her random questions, her eyes traveling from the park to Brittany's striking profile. She always catches herself staring at her, blushing when Brittany smirks or turns her head and holds her gaze. It's coy and slow burning and better than anything Santana's ever felt before.

"So what's your favorite book?" Brittany suddenly asks, her hand brushing against Santana's knuckles. It's been making Santana's heart skip a few beats ever since they started walking side by side on the path, but she tries focusing on Brittany's question instead.

"Can I say Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"Oh my god you dork," Brittany laughs, "that's a manga not a book!"

"Well to be honest," Santana answers sheepishly, "Riza was always my favorite character."

Brittany's nose scrunches up. "The blonde chick with the super sniper skills?"

Santana's brows shoot up to her hairline. "You know it?"

"Yeah, my sister is into that stuff..." Brittany looks smug suddenly. "So blondes, eh?"

Santana blushes. "Yeah, kinda."

She's never really talked about her attraction to women before, not that she really felt the need to, but she has to admit it feels really good. Her sexual orientation has never been something she's really struggled with, though she did find herself forced to hide it while in high school, mostly because she was bullied enough as it was. Her mother has always been acceptant, even surprising Santana when she said she knew the moment she was nine and looked under Ms. Corcoran's skirt with awe and giddiness in her eyes. That was one friend Maribel Lopez never saw again at her famous diner parties. Still, Santana never got to talk about her actual crushes (like the one she had on Jennifer Aniston, or, on a more realistic scale, Piper Wilkers, her lab partner). Sure she had Rory... but he was more interested in whining about his virginity than giving Santana the chance to talk. And even then, she's not really sure she'd have told him anything. He wasn't the most reliable person; though all and all he was rather sweet; and she didn't want to lose her only friend if it turned out he wasn't very acceptant.

"I think Lust is pretty hot," Brittany suddenly says, making Santana laugh.

"Well that's kind of her thing," Santana answers amusedly. "So bad girls, eh?" She then reciprocates.

Brittany looks at her for a moment with a glint in her eye and then smiles. "Nah, not really."

* * *

It's Thursday that Santana's knees go weak and she finds herself yearning for Brittany's touch.

It'd been a normal day up until they had lunch together again, where Brittany surprised her with a kiss at the corner of her lips, saying she had a bit of chocolate and that was the only way to get it off. Santana's heart had probably stopped and gone into limbo before she snapped out of her daze and found herself blushing furiously.

Brittany then walked her to her Drawing class, in which Santana talked to Quinn and they made plans for their project that was finally postponed two weeks. It'd been hard to focus with her lips still tingling, but she'd made it through easily enough. Now she's walking through the corridor, only a few seconds after the class was dismissed. She's trying to re-arrange the papers in her bag, holding her folder in her another hand, when she feels someone grab her and pull her into an empty classroom, then pressing her against the now closed door. She squeaks but exhales loudly when she recognizes Brittany, moaning low when she feels her hands on her waist.

"Didn't you learn not to hold so many papers at the same time?" Brittany asks, a grin on her face.

Santana is still trying to catch her breath, her heart now beating not only because she was taken aback, but because Brittany is right in front of her, her lips only a few inches away.

"I thought," Santana swallows, "you weren't going to corner me anymore."

Brittany laughs. "I _did_ say that. But I imagined you wouldn't mind this… or maybe I was wrong?"

"No no…" Santana rushes. "I m-mean…"

"So you like being cornered?" Brittany teases.

Santana smiles timidly as she feels herself blush. She looks at Brittany from under her eyelashes and nods. Brittany's usual smirk slowly disappears, and Santana swears she sees her swallow and tense.

"Can I…"

"What?" Santana boldly asks, eager to know the reason behind Brittany's darkening eyes.

Brittany shifts a little and brings her hands up to gently take off Santana's glasses, folding the arms and tucking one in her shirt so her hands are free. She looks back at Santana with inquisitive eyes, making sure she wants this as well. Santana's left hand curls into a nervous fist as she feels Brittany's breath on her face, so close to her mouth she can't help but part her lips. It's nerve-racking when Brittany finally kisses her, Santana's eyelids shutting tight as she feels soft lips against hers.

It's slow and dragging at first, with Brittany pressing her lips much more than she had on Sunday night. It's also wet and warm, and Santana feels the warmth travel through her body and pool low in between her thighs. She moans when she feels Brittany's tongue flick against her bottom lip, to which she can't help but open her mouth. Santana is tentative in caressing Brittany's tongue with hers, shy and curious, anxious but eager. She can feel Brittany's body pressed against hers now, and her hands trail a path from her hips to her sides, resting near her breasts.

Brittany is thorough; she lets Santana explore and lead. She's patient and languid, with each flick of her tongue making Santana's knees quiver and hands tremble. She'd collapse if it weren't for Brittany holding her against the wall. Brittany bites on Santana's bottom lip, smiling when she hears the soft moan and feels Santana's tongue massage hers again, so amazed and explorative.

Their pace quickens but the need to breathe makes them break the kiss. Santana rests her forehead against Brittany's almost instinctively and, eyes still closed and mind dazed, she murmurs, "Wow."

Brittany grins.

* * *

On her lunch break Friday, Santana meets up with Sam at a comic book store in Seattle. She promised him she'd helped him calm his impulsive need to buy everything in sight, but until now she's been very distracted by Brittany's texts. She's been sending her silly things all morning, and her last one is making Santana's heart flutter eagerly.

_12:17pm [Brittany Pierce]: Still thinking about that kiss. You, miss Lopez, have turned my head upside down._

She's typing out her answer when Sam suddenly asks, "Who are you texting like that Miss happy face?"

Santana jumps a bit before she squeezes her phone in her hand. "No one, just, uh, Quinn."

Sam arches an eyebrow and smiles teasingly. "_Quinn_ huh?"

Santana blushes, shaking her head. "It's nothing like that. Quinn is my friend."

Sam chuckles, "Right," he drawls out. "Well I remember a time when I used to say that about Kurt you know..."

"Well... that's—I'm really happy for both of you, but this isn't anything like that."

"Okay, okay, just askin'..." Sam says, walking over to the rack of newly arrived comic books.

Santana sighs, hating that she keeps lying to him, before she hits 'send' on her phone.

_12:23pm: I hope that's a good thing? :-)_

It's only one minute later that she gets Brittany's answer,

_12:24pm [Brittany Pierce]: A very good thing. Can't wait for tonight._

Santana bites her lip, smiling but still feeling rather anxious. She decides to ask Quinn to help her out when she sees her today in their History of Art class, knowing the girl will most likely have a few pointers she could probably use.

* * *

"You have literally nothing salvageable in your entire wardrobe," Quinn says, making Santana frown.

Quinn agreed to help her dress for her date, but after a half-hour of going through tops, they were both a bit discouraged. Santana would point out t-shirts but Quinn would frown or wordlessly raise an eyebrow that screamed, "_Really? That thing?_"

Finally she drops the last top in Santana's drawer on her bed and sighs. "Okay, plan b. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Wait wha—"

Quinn scurries out of her room before Santana can frown. She looks at the piles of clothes thrown around on her bed and on the ground, wondering what's wrong with her signature Breadstix t-shirt anyway. The logo is pretty neat, she thinks... but Quinn pretty much barfed at the sight. She asked about one of her black tops as well, but her friend seemed to deem it boring as well.

She takes a deep breath as she looks down at her dark jeans, the only thing Quinn and her agreed on. Maybe this was a bad idea after all...

Quinn knocks shortly after, hands carrying a few tops and a pair of shoes as she breezes through the living room and back into Santana's room. She sets the clothes onto the bed and turns around to face Santana. "Try this one," she says, holding a pale blue shirt.

Santana's nose scrunches up as she takes the top and looks awkwardly at Quinn. "Oh come on," Quinn says, "it's not the time to be prude."

Santana hesitates before she takes her t-shirt off and puts the shirt on as quickly as possible. "Okay, um... it's a bit..."

Quinn grimaces, "Not your style."

She turns to the bed and thinks for a few seconds before she grabs a dark red top, smiling at Santana as she hands it to her. "This should do it."

Santana bites her lip as she unbuttons the shirt and yanks it off. She slips the red top on and puts a strand of hair back behind her ear when it falls on her nose. She looks back at Quinn, who seems half-happy half-shocked. "Where in the heck did you hide _those_ all this time?"

Santana blushes furiously when she feels Quinn's stare on her breasts and opens her mouth, words stuck in her throat as she tries pulling at the top a bit higher near the cleavage. "Are you hitting on me?" She manages to ask, tone in between mortified and embarrassed.

Quinn chuckles. "We don't play for the same team honey, I'm just saying anyone who does will give Brittany a good run for her money." She winks playfully and turns around to pick up a simple pair of black ballerinas, then handing them to Santana. "They should fit."

Santana thanks her and slips them on, feeling both good about herself and awfully uncomfortable. She knows her nerves are probably getting to her, but she also has a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that she just can't shake off. She takes a deep breath as she looks at her face in the mirror, thankful that Quinn did her makeup so nicely. She actually feels... pretty for the first time in a while, and hopes Brittany will think the same.

It's twenty minutes later that she hears the knock at the door. Quinn has already left and Santana knows it's all up to her now. She wills to calm herself before she goes to open the door, smiling when she sees Brittany.

"Hi."

Brittany blinks at her outfit for three full seconds before she clears her throat, swallows and smiles back. "Hey. You look... incredible. Gorgeous."

Santana lets go of the breath she didn't know she was holding, elated, and reminds herself to squeeze Quinn the next time she sees her.

"Ready to go?" Brittany asks, offering her hand.

Santana nods, biting her lip as their fingers interlock, and closes the door behind them.

* * *

**A/N:**** I've updated my profile page and there are a few links of images, references etc if that interests you. ****Please review if you have the time and shoot me your questions if you have any! **Next chapter is the date, I wonder how that'll go down... 


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sorry for the delay guys, my week consisted of work and no fun. I've also changed my pen name, so now it matches the tumblr I've created in case you have any questions or thoughts: troublebones . tumblr . com (I'll also post pictures for the chapters, things that appear in them or just generally inspire me.) _

_Thank you for your amazing support, I really appreciate it. _

* * *

Brittany, Santana thinks, looks nothing short of beautiful.

Her hair is straight and the light blue feather that usually sticks out of honey blonde locks is gone, replaced by a side braid that, unsurprisingly, makes Santana think about Star Wars, though she does bite her lip when she realizes she's about to say _that _little gem out loud. She doesn't know if Brittany would like being compared to a Padawan, but she's not going to risk it. She's been trying to tame her overly nerdy thoughts to avoid being a complete dork –though she was nicely surprised when Brittany exclaimed she couldn't wait for the new season of The Walking Dead (being a great fan of the comic book)– and so far Santana likes to think she's doing quite well.

Well, at least that's what she gets from Brittany holding her hand so nicely, sometimes squeezing it the slightest bit or gently smoothing her thumb over her fingers.

She's wearing a dark blue jacket and black skinny jeans, with a pair of kicks that Santana has deemed pure Brittany fashion. They're a light grey but the laces are bright blue, matching her jacket and her eyes, with the hint of mascara and eyeliner making them pop beautifully. Her pearly white grin is still well in place, to which Santana smiles back sheepishly. Finally, she notices how Brittany's t-shirt seems to cling to every curve of her body, making Santana's eyes snap back up as she realizes she's been staring at the outline of abs and the delicate curve of hips for far too long to be seen as casual.

She quickly turns her head and settles her eyes on the door of the elevator, wincing when her neck snaps and biting her lip when she hears Brittany try to muffle her chuckle. She's still feeling a bit unsure, the bad presentiment she had before Brittany knocked on her door showing its ugly face again, but the simple brush of Brittany's thumb on the back of her hand works its magic on her mind. Her shoulders relax as the door slides open and they walk out of the elevator.

"I'm parked a bit further than the time I drove you and Quinn to the party," Brittany explains, "so we're going to have to walk a bit. Sorry about that."

Santana nods with a small shrug; she doesn't mind walking with Brittany… she actually likes it a lot. Sometimes their shoulders bump, and they look at each other apologetically, smiling inside because they both know they did it on purpose. The campus lights provide a soft atmosphere, though the orange sun is still peaking a bit, fighting the impending cloak of night, and some students are lazing around, talking animatedly in groups or heading out as well, eager to take advantage of the weekend.

"So, um…" Brittany hesitates, breaking the silence that settled in between them as she clears her throat, "how was your day?"

"Good," Santana answers, her lips curling as she thinks back on Brittany's texts and how she spent the day wondering about their date. "But I kind of... missed you," she whispers shyly, afraid it's too much or too soon. She doesn't want Brittany to think she's going to be the clingy type or anything, but she also feels the need to be honest. And she _did_ miss her, even if they'd engaged in a very... enjoyable exchange only yesterday. If she concentrates hard enough, Santana can remember exactly how the wall felt against her back, hard and cold but a wonderful contrast to the warmth of Brittany's tongue and the softness of her breath against her lips. She's been wanting –craving– to kiss Brittany like that again, but she knows she doesn't have it in her to initiate it.

Just when she looks back at Brittany, she swears she hears her whisper something along the lines of "Good, that's good," but then Brittany is looking at her with a quick smile plastered on her face. "I missed you too."

Santana feels like she should be relieved to hear those words –relieved that what she thinks and says isn't one-sided, that she isn't the only fool falling hard here– but she can't help but notice something is off. There is little conviction in Brittany's tone, like her smile could reach her ears but never her eyes. It's almost sad; _Brittany _seems sad, defeated almost. It makes Santana's stomach churn; like she swallowed something she knows she's allergic to and the fear is growing faster than the symptoms.

"Are you all right?" Santana chances with false casualty, desperate to prove herself she's wrong. Her tone betrays her though, and Brittany immediately looks at her.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" She laughs awkwardly.

"I don't know… you just seem kind of down all of a sudden."

Brittany shakes her head, her smile now warmer. "I'm just thinking about our date is all," she explains. "I've never really, ah, done this before. The whole dating thing I mean."

Santana bites her bottom lip as she nods. She wants to tell Brittany that this is her first date as well; that she's never been anyone's sweetheart although she often wished she were, even when it was just in passing, like in high-school, where she'd look at the cheerleaders and their boyfriends kissing for everyone else to see. Even Sam and Kurt sometimes make her sigh, mostly because they're too taken with each other to notice she's still right next to them, eating quietly so as to not bother their private moment. She doesn't blame them, of course. They have little to no time free with each other, mostly because Kurt works part-time at a small clothing boutique, and it's natural for them to want to savor the smallest things. Santana is grateful enough that they still hang out with her as well.

She wants to admit that this is uncharted territory to her, because she's pretty sure that Brittany, though maybe new to dating, is much more experienced with people than she is. Well, maybe that's not entirely right… Santana isn't all that bad with people, per se, she just feels completely clueless as to how she can _keep_ those people in her life. It's not like Rory was always her only friend. At the beginning of Senior Year, she'd joined Jacob Ben Israel's comic book club. They talked every week on Tuesdays and she'd met two girls and a guy that she thought could have been great friends. It didn't wipe out her 'loser' status though, quite the contrary, and soon enough they realized it wasn't all that smart to be friends with the girl Lauren Zizes just loved to shove around. Rory was nice enough to stay –he was an easy target himself, so he'd rationalized it'd be no different either way– but it was never a friendship that reached great heights.

Santana soon realized she was more than grateful for the clean college slate as friendships are easier to weave here.

Like Quinn, for example. Santana is pretty sure they're off to a good start now, though sometimes she doesn't really understand her. Quinn is the type of girl to make you wonder if she isn't a teensy bit on the whimsical side, a little bit careless at times and overly cautious at others. She's naturally poised and always very aware of who's looking at her, yet she huffs in annoyance whenever someone compliments her. Santana noticed it in their fourth class together, after a particularly tall boyish guy had praised her for her intricate use of pastels. She'd immediately shriveled into herself and barked back that he should mind his own business, unless he wanted to have his 18 x 24 inch canvas lodged in between his legs.

Quinn is an enigma just like Brittany, though in a very different way; open to helping Santana yet not so open to disclose much about herself. Santana has a feeling someone hurt her before, but she won't just ask her bluntly about it. For now she likes defining what they have as a burgeoning friendship, but she knows it's atypical, to say the least.

Hopefully, that will change, along with her uneasiness when faced with words that remind her too much of her high school debacle. There's also a part of her, albeit a very small one, that's telling her that Brittany is very much on the popular side while she's easily forgettable even in an empty room. She doesn't want Brittany to figure that out on her own though; doesn't want her to think she's maybe just a waste of time –Santana couldn't take it if Brittany turned out to be another Lauren Zizes.

"Now who's spacing out?" Brittany asks, a hint of amusement coloring her voice and making her lips twitch.

Santana shakes her head, willing herself to smile back. "Sorry."

Brittany laughs, a real, bubbling laugh that lights up her eyes.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"I'm not, I swear," Brittany chuckles. "You should just see your face right now."

Santana huffs, "Yea, well…"

"Aww," Brittany coos playfully. "Don't be like that, I actually feel really lucky I found myself such a cute little dork."

"Hey!" Santana interjects, playfully swatting Brittany's shoulder with her free hand.

The mood is lighter as they walk to Brittany's parked car, making Santana's uneasy thoughts quickly disappear.

"There's my baby," Brittany says, pointing to her car and shooting Santana a lazy smirk. "Don't be jealous though."

"I'm not," Santana quips back, eyebrow raised. Though she was briefly in Brittany's car last week, Santana can fully see it now. The first thing she notices is how it's so unlike Brittany; black and grimy with the tires caked in dirt and dried mud, and a few dents here and there. It's definitely not the batmobile or Q Branch's latest prototype, but Santana is more taken aback at how much it clashes with Brittany's personality. Admittedly, Santana doesn't know much about cars, but her father cultivated this theory that you can judge someone based on the content and allure of their automobile, something she always mindlessly listened to. She realizes now how silly it sounds... Leather interiors, for example, clean, smooth, and dark, would be the manifest of tidiness and organization, something only people with neatly pressed clothes, quick wits and eyes sharp as hawks would drive. Now that she thinks back on it, Santana is more inclined to think that her father is a man who likes to toy with stereotypes and harebrained theories. Most of the time, he despises the exception that proves the rule and she thinks him harsh to put people in such unforgiving boxes like that, but then again, he's always been one with shock values and off-putting perceptions.

So really, Santana is more surprised that Brittany drives a car this obviously rundown if her home looks anything like Sebastian's, rather than being confused as to why it's black and boring when Brittany is the bright colors and wacky accessories type. She doesn't let it bother her too much, though, because before she realizes it, Brittany is clearing her throat exaggeratedly and opening the passenger door for her, smiling teasingly with the faintest hint of coyness.

"M'lady," she bows in an over the top ludicrous way, knees bending and hand whisking behind her back after a theatrical pirouette.

It gets the warranted reaction because Santana laughs, a surprised yet happy chortle that ends just as quickly as it started, Santana rushing to cover her mouth and stop the less than 'ladylike' noise. Brittany can't help but laugh as well at the sight of a flustered Santana, the smile quickly reaching her curious gaze. Santana looks so… unabashed when she laughs.

"Don't be ashamed," Brittany says, her tone softer now that her laugh dissipated, "it suits you."

Santana looks up, the question forming in her eyes before it reaches full lips.

"Laughing," Brittany explains, "it suits you well."

Santana blushes, though she's feeling more and more used to Brittany making her heartbeat pick up with just a few of her sweet words.

A few minutes later, Brittany is driving them much more outside of Seattle than the campus already is. Santana notices the moon shining brighter as the seconds tick by, yet the road seems to be getting darker and darker. There are no cars in front or behind them, save for the dark green volvo that sped past them a few minutes ago, and the isolation is starting to make her a bit more nervous.

"So where is this place?" Santana asks for the second time, trying to appease her curiosity.

"You'll see," Brittany chuckles. She looks at Santana briefly before smiling reassuringly and looking back at the road. "Relax, I promise I'm not a serial killer with an axe in my trunk." After a pause, she smirks. "Though I do have pepper spray and my mad ninja skills just in case."

Santana breathes out a small laugh as she smiles, reminding herself she still sometimes refers to Brittany as a serial kisser. She almost immediately regrets it though, because it makes her wonder if this date is really anything special in Brittany's eyes. She isn't stupid as to think Brittany is a virgin like she is, much less someone whose first real kiss was less than a week ago, and she also knows Brittany isn't shy about what she wants. She still distinctly remembers seeing her atop a chestnut-haired girl not too long ago, their hands and lips moving in a less than chaste way as they ground into each other. It's not too farfetched to wonder if maybe Brittany flirts around with other girls, walking with them in the mornings she doesn't walk with Santana, or maybe even trailing her fingers on their skin and kissing them senseless near maple trees, red leaves, and rich green grass.

Santana squeezes her eyes shut, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. She knows she has no right to feel hurt; Brittany and her have never defined what they have and this week was much too short to have any sort of conversation about it. They've been learning about each other for the most part; though Brittany was much more evasive about the details of her life; and enjoying the stolen kisses or fleeting touches. Still, Santana can't help but feel a little bit down at the thought.

"Hey, chin up," Brittany says, looking at her with a smile as she parks the car. "We're there."

Santana looks around curiously, because _there_ is literally the middle of nowhere. Well, maybe not exactly nowhere, but definitely somewhere she's never been before. They're surrounded by wild grass, bushes and shrubs, with oak trees standing tall and proud as their large trunks sink into the earth. Brittany takes a flashlight out and goes to open Santana's door, smiling down at her as she offers her hand. "Don't worry," she coos, "I know this spot well."

Santana tucks her bottom lip in as she grabs her hand and shuts the door with her other hand, then following Brittany as she walks them towards a cluster of shrubs, with twigs and small rocks cracking under their feet. There's a particular shrub that catches Santana's eye, and she swears it looks like a person for just the briefest second. Her eyes shift as she tenses and grabs Brittany's arm.

"You okay?"

"Sorry," Santana murmurs, her voice almost childlike. She just really hates shrubs.

Brittany chuckles, and though Santana can't really see her, she can just imagine the signature smirk on her face. "Hey I'm not complaining."

The flashlight guides them through dried leaves and smaller trees, until it settles on a small babbling brook. It's a narrow one that glides through thorns, vines, and slippery slopes until it reaches a heap of wet leaves and moss, disappearing behind muddy rocks and a dark green bush. Brittany holds Santana closer as they cross the brook with one large step, and suddenly Santana feels Brittany tug at her hand with just the faintest pressure. She shuts off the flashlight, making Santana's eyebrows knit together before she notices light shining through the wild nature right in front of them.

It almost looks like fire, yet there is no smoke or smell or the prickling of heat. Brittany looks at her then, the contour of her face beautifully lit as she motions with her finger for Santana to be quiet. She leads her through wet grass and growing marguerites until the breath is knocked out of Santana's lungs and she's left gasping in awe. Brittany tucks her lips in, apprehensive but eager as well, looking over at the wonder Santana sees for the very first time.

Over a large pond of dark green water, fly thousands of lightning bugs, some hidden in the reeds while others stay suspended over the water, flapping their small wings as they hold themselves in place, their gold or pale red lights reflecting brightly in the pond. Sometimes a firefly dares to flirt with the water, and the smallest ripple of a wing against the tranquil surface disturbs the peace for just a fleeting second.

"It's called the Court of Lights," Brittany murmurs, the soft hush of her voice barely reaching Santana's ears.

She's never seen so many fireflies all in one place, like this is their one true home in the whole world. Sometimes some of the lights flicker, and Santana is left gaping and speechless.

"That's how they communicate," Brittany explains, voice still low as a murmur. "They talk to each other through pulses of light. Kinda like a fluorescent morse code," she smiles.

"It's beautiful," Santana murmurs, afraid her voice will break the quietness.

Brittany squeezes her arm, "Lay with me?"

They settle on the soft grass of the clearing, a couple of feet away from the pond, legs spread in front of them.

"How did you even know about this place?" Santana whispers, curious and baffled.

Brittany is silent, taking her time to choose her words carefully before she murmurs back,

"There used to be a house a couple of decades ago, right over that line of trees and bushes you see on the other side of the pond," she explains, her hand pointing to the area. "It belonged to a judge, and he used to come here every summer with his kids. But one time it rained for days and days; so long that the pond flooded and ruined his house completely. It was so bad he didn't even bother rebuilding anything, and the place got abandoned."

She pauses, her fingers grasping grass and pulling it out as Santana watches her.

"My grandfather was one of the guys in charge of cleaning everything up. They tried salvaging the most important things… anything that required getting your hands deep in mud really, but one day he left a little bit later than usual, after the others, and that's when he found out about the fireflies. Ever since, he'd bring my dad over anytime they could and they'd camp for the night, just watching the fireflies and talking until they fell asleep. That's when he came up with the Court of Lights... it was only fitting since a judge had lived so close," she smiles.

"I guess your dad kept up with the tradition?" Santana softly asks.

"Yeah," Brittany nods, "he did."

Santana bites her lips, letting her hand rest atop Brittany's. "That's a lovely story, thank you for bringing me here," she murmurs.

"Well, I... I know that you like fantasy and science fiction stuff, so, I um, I thought you'd like this," Brittany chuckles awkwardly.

Santana can see she seems a bit embarrassed, maybe because she's never really told this story to anyone before, so she takes a small breath before she leans in and kisses Brittany's lips, whispering another _thank you_ against them.

* * *

It's been an hour since they've arrived, and Santana swallows the last piece of melon on her paper plate.

Brittany had brought food in the trunk of her car, neatly stashed in the portable fridge she told Santana she never left without. Santana had fount it completely adorable when Brittany strutted back from the car with it, though Brittany had growled at the word and grumbled something about being badass, not _adorable_.

They ate sandwiches and fruit with a bit of chocolate mousse, and, currently, Santana is still recovering from how good the melon was. Seriously, it isn't even the season anymore!

"That was so good," she says, feeling the prickle of the grass as she rests on her back.

Brittany chuckles and whispers, "Aces."

It makes Santana smile as she hears the familiar term once again. "And then you say I'm the dork?"

Brittany blinks. "Well... _yeah_."

She giggles as she looks over at Brittany's_ isn't-that-obvious?_ expression. "Whatever you say, Britt."

Brittany frowns. "Britt?"

Santana bites her lip, looking shy. "Is that okay?"

Brittany thinks it over before she smirks, "Yeah, that's okay... Sanny."

"No," Santana cringes, "never, ever, ever."

Brittany grins, suddenly looking quite pleased with herself. "Oh _rea_lly?"

"I promise that if you call me that again I'll—I'll just leave."

Brittany laughs before rolling over on her stomach and leaning over Santana, smirking knowingly as her hands reach out for Santana's and she pines them down over her head.

Santana swallows, "What are you–"

"Shh, just relax for a bit…" Brittany grins wickedly, "…Sanny."

Santana whines and frowns, trying to wiggle herself out. Brittany looks completely satisfied as she watches her squirm, not bothering to cut short the laugh that erupts. "Brittany..." Santana groans.

"All right, okay, never again," Brittany says amusedly, letting go of her wrists but not moving her body. Instead, she angles it so she hovers over Santana, making the girl's breath hitch. Her smirk fades the slightest bit as she leans down, not for one second breaking their eye contact. She searches for any hint of hesitation coming from Santana before she presses her lips against hers, her eyelids shutting as she feels the soft full lips against hers.

Santana doesn't move, afraid it'll give Brittany the wrong impression and she'll back away. Instead she lets her lips move with Brittany's, shivering when she runs her tongue along her bottom lip, asking for entrance. She lets it in with a moan, feeling heat starting to spread through her body again. Brittany's hands find themselves in her hair, holding her close as she strokes and massages Santana's tongue with her own. She can't help but let her left hand trail down Santana's body, caressing the sliver of caramel skin.

Santana trembles again, but this time it's because Brittany is sliding her thigh in between her legs, inching it higher until it presses against her center. She moans in Brittany's mouth, overtaken with desire and the need to be closer to the girl above her. She's touched herself before, felt the rush of an orgasm and the overwhelming calm after it, but she's never felt like _this, _warm all over and trembling with want.

Brittany smiles against her mouth, pressing three small kisses at the corner of her lips before she opens her eyes and murmurs, "Melon?"

Santana's eyes fly open, "Whaa'?" She croaks in surprise. Her voice surprises her and she clears her throat at the sound, fighting against the heat rising to her cheeks. "I mean, what?"

Brittany laughs, then turns over and reaches for the last piece of melon. "I thought you'd want the last piece."

Santana blinks, still in a daze, "Oh. Okay, yeah..."

She takes it in her hand and bites on it, the juice sticking to her fingers as her eyes drift from the fruit to Brittany's satisfied and amused gaze. After she finishes it, she feels her heartbeat slowly pick up again, the darkening of Brittany's eyes making her swallow.

"I can help you with that," Brittany murmurs. She takes her hand with a knowing smile playing on her lips and slips two of her fingers in her mouth, sucking off the melon juice with a hum. Santana's eye widen and she lets out a small gasp, her breath caught in her throat.

Brittany lets go of her fingers with a pop and a small slurp, smirking as she leans down and kisses Santana for a brief second. "Delicious."

Santana doesn't know if she's talking about the melon or not, but the twinkle in Brittany's eyes tells her she means something else by that, which makes her quiver and stutter unintelligible words.

Brittany chuckles and twists her head to the side when she hears an owl in the distance. "It's going to start getting really chilly pretty soon, I'll drive us back."

* * *

The drive back is smooth and punctuated by smalltalk and knowing smiles, Santana feeling completely happy with how the date went. So much so that when Brittany is walking her back to her room, she bites her lips and asks her if she wants to come in and hang out for a bit. She can't really explain why, but she doesn't want Brittany to leave so soon.

They're in Santana's room, with Brittany looking around, when Santana freezes and her eyes widen. Brittany looks surprised as she sees a drawing of herself on Santana's desk, picking it up and eyeing it curiously. Just when Santana is about to rip it out of her hands, she hears,

"Is that really how you see me?"

Brittany is turned towards her, drawing in her hand as her eyes sparkle with something Santana can't decipher. Santana swallows as she sets her eyes on the drawing, a Brittany in super-villain gear smirking back at her with wild blonde hair and eyes full of mischief. She can't believe she didn't trash that drawing when she could have. _Oh god... _

"Because that's fucking hot," Brittany husks, noticing how Santana squirms in her seat.

Santana doesn't have time to be surprised before Brittany's lips are on hers, hands griping her waist as she pushes her down on the bed. She moans in surprise but the spark of lust is quick to help her recover, and soon she grips back at Brittany with just as much need.

She finds herself on her back, Brittany laying over her and in between her legs as her kiss grows sloppier and needier, their tongues clashing and lips sucking anywhere they can. When Brittany's mouth trails a path down her jaw to her neck, she tries calming her heart and the way her chest picks up with each erratic breath, pressing against Brittany's boobs and so close to feeling her heart. Brittany sucks and bites her neck, making Santana squirm and moan when she finds a spot under her ear, and Santana's hips thrust up against hers.

"Fuck," Brittany breathes.

Her hand wanders over Santana's top until she settles over her boobs, slowly kneading one as she holds herself upright with her free arm. When Santana moans low, she's quick to kiss her again, her tongue sneaking its way back into her mouth as she starts moving her hand down Santana's stomach and over the button of her jeans.

"Wait, wait," Santana gasps, her thoughts a jumbled mess of nothing as she tries processing how fast everything is happening. "I'm not, I've—"

"What?" Brittany groans, kissing back up her neck to her earlobe.

Santana whimpers, "I'm still..."

Brittany looks at her then, eyes enquiring and motioning for her to go on.

Santana feels ridiculously small off all a sudden, her next words coming out as a whisper, "I'm still a virgin."

Brittany freezes, her body growing rigid atop Santana's. She opens her mouth but no words come out, making Santana pinch her lips worriedly. "Bri—"

"I can't do this," Brittany says hurriedly, moving off of Santana and standing up, quickly reaching for the door, "I'm so sorry, I—I have to go."

"Wait!" Santana blurts out, heart pounding and hands clutching at the cover as she sits up. Brittany stops dead in her tracks and Santana notices how her shoulders tense and then relax with the breath she lets out. It's unbearably silent before Santana murmurs again, "I'm sorry, please don't go. Just… stay? Please?"

She wants nothing more than to bury her head into her pillow in embarrassment and cry herself to sleep, maybe even lose herself under the cover and never surface again—she feels like her lack of experience is the reason Brittany is so inclined to leave, somehow—but the words just came out before she could even stop herself; stop _Brittany_ from leaving.

"I'll hurt you," Brittany whispers, so low Santana barely makes it out. She does though, and shakes her head, ignoring the feel of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she guesses Brittany means her virginity.

"Can't we just… hold each other?"

It's an innocent request, one that makes her feel small and naïve, like she shouldn't ask someone to hold them to sleep, even if they'd been beyond holding each other mere minutes ago. Somehow it just feels so much more intimate to her to ask this, especially on their first date, but Brittany makes her feel like the world is falling around them yet she's still safe, like she can talk for hours and listen for days. She likes the way she acts around her, and more than that, she revels in the way she _wants _to act: playfully impulsive and unashamedly adventurous.

Brittany, though, Brittany struggles with something Santana only notices at brief times. Like now, here, with her back still turned and her hand still on the doorknob, she looks undoubtedly torn. "Santana," she breathes out, her voice still so much lower than a murmur. Santana fiddles nervously with the cover, toying with the idea of just burying herself under a rock at the bottom of the ocean.

Brittany turns around then, and lets her hand slip from the doorknob. "Okay. I'll hold you," she says. Her voice is soft like honey but with a twinge of fear that makes Santana wonder if she's the only nervous one in the room. She tries smiling, but then Brittany slips off her shoes and climbs back up on the bed, so she shivers instead.

"Are you cold?" Brittany asks.

Santana wants to tell her she's never felt this warm in her life, that her whole body could be used to melt an igloo, but that sounds completely dorky so she settles for a tiny white lie instead. "Yeah, a little bit…"

Brittany chuckles, finding the sheepish look on Santana's face utterly adorable, before she moves a bit to grab the cover and pull it over both their bodies. Santana shifts to her side as she feels Brittany behind her, tensing for just a second when she feels Brittany's front against her back.

"Here," Brittany murmurs, draping her arm over Santana's body and taking her hand in hers, "like this."

Santana's lips twitch as their fingers intertwine, the weak campus lampposts and the moonlight barely allowing them to see the difference in their skin tone. Santana likes how they seem to blend so well, how her body just feels right so tightly pressed to Brittany's.

"Goodnight," Brittany says, kissing her cheek and squeezing her hand just a bit. Santana whispers goodnight back, closing her eyes and letting sleep lull her quietly, feeling confident that for the first time in her life, she won't wake up alone.

It's only an hour later that Brittany carefully slips out of the bed and out of the room with a torn expression on her face, making herself promise she won't engage with Santana again.


	8. Chapter 8

Soft warmth, molding to her body like the finest tailored clothes and holding her carefully in her state of sheer comfort—that's the first thing that Santana feels. It's such a nice sensation that she frowns at the prospect of leaving this cocoon so soon. How long has it been since she's been so aware of her surroundings; of the soft cotton blanket and the plushness of her pillow; yet so deliciously unaware and free not to care? Thinking over the question only makes her heart ache, as she's certain the answer lies in the depth of her faraway childhood.

Just as she buries her head further into the pillow though, everything hits her. She remembers why she feels so good and how it is that her throat makes this happy thrum as she lightly scratches her nose. She smiles, unable to stop herself, knowing who is making her so eager to just turn around. She's really happy to have fallen asleep with Brittany, because now she gets to wake up next to her. She doesn't even care if Brittany has morning breath; she feels so happy she'd still kiss her even if she smelt like Gollum.

And really, rolling over in her own bed to look at Brittany is such a simple task, but somehow she's the slightest bit scarred. Her feet twitch a bit as she takes a deep breath, saddened when the previous feeling of her carelessness turns so quickly into doubt. She really wants to turn around, to see wild honey gold locks _everywhere_ and take in the smell of lemon and mango. Santana knows it's an odd combination, but yesterday, as she fell asleep, it was the only thing she distinctly remembered as darkness washed over her in a tranquil manner. She doesn't know how, after an evening of melon and chocolate mousse, Brittany managed to taste of mangoes, but somehow she did and that's all that matters.

That and, of course, everything that happened after, although Santana is rather embarrassed at how the situation went from safe and lovely to fragile and frightening. Yet… Brittany stayed. Brittany, with her playful words and lingering touches, held Santana when she was vulnerable and confused until sleep lulled her and welcomed her with open arms. Brittany, with her hands and mouth, made Santana feel and want and yearn for so much _more_.

Despite everything being so new, Santana does wonder how it would feel to have Brittany touch her more intimately. She was so close to slipping her fingers near the warm and wet ache Santana had felt… and now she can't help but imagine what would have happened if she hadn't panicked and stopped her. To have Brittany kiss her hard again, just like last night when she saw the drawing still laying on the desk. To have their legs tangled, or perhaps hers around Brittany's waist, like in those glorified romantic movies her mom used to watch when she thought her daughter was asleep. Santana has never been with anyone or daring enough to research lesbian material to know about the tricks and intricacies, but she knows it can't be so much different from those telenovelas Maribel used to watch with a glass of red wine. It's all about the feelings, isn't it?

And Santana does know what she feels, so she figures that'll help her with the rest. Like when Brittany slipped her tongue inside her mouth or bit down on her bottom lip, she couldn't help but moan low and breathily, her hands griping the sheet beneath her. Santana bites back a smile as she imagines blurry images of their two bodies, with hands searching under layers of clothes this time. She does stop herself when she feels the blush on her cheeks and remembers that Brittany is right behin—

Her eyes fly open.

Where she knows she should feel an arm around her, she realizes she only feels the fabric of the dark red top she forgot to change out of and the pleasant heaviness of the blanket. There is no warm, steady breath on her neck, or that feeling in her spine that would usually announce 'someone is right behind you'. There are no chuckles and morning kisses in her neck, or a sleepy 'good morning' breathed into her ear. Santana knows that's an image she shouldn't have hoped for, as it wasn't very likely to happen word for word, but the disappointment still stings.

Now it's not a matter of will but want; turning around will only let her down. Still, she slowly rolls over, frowning sadly when she sees and feels the predictably cold spot next to her. She turns around by reflex, as if Brittany could possibly be lying on the floor somehow. She isn't, of course, and Santana sighs. She feels her eyes burn then, the first sign of a migraine that's the result of her squinting too long without her glasses. She gets to her knees on her bed as she taps around to find them, wondering how they fell off as she slept. She's not a particularly heavy sleeper so she doesn't move around much, but yesterday was a night of many firsts so maybe this is just another one of them.

When her left hand encounters the pair right behind her pillow, she retrieves them and checks to see if they're in one piece, not wanting to explain to her mother why she needs yet _another_ pair of glasses. Her ophthalmologist always gives her a weird look when she shows up with a different pair from her last checkup, and he's already creepy enough as it is. Thankfully they look fine, and she hopes she won't have to change them anytime soon. She quite likes the design of these and though she'll never admit it to anyone, they make her feel like an undercover Superwoman.

Sadly, Santana reminds herself that she's far away from being a kickass superhero, as the world is in no need of her services and she's not even able to keep a girl she really likes from running away. She won't wallow in self-pity though, so she sets her glasses back on her nose and blinks a couple of times to readjust herself to the feeling of seeing.

(She also blinks away the tears building up.)

She rolls her eyes at herself for needing so little to quell the pounding in her head, wondering if maybe she's jumping the gun too quickly. Brittany has shown nothing but interest in her, wanting to know more about Santana and bringing her to spots that meant something to her. Their date yesterday was really one out of a novel, punctuated by bursts of light and the soft hum of the wind.

Brittany is most likely in the bathroom or maybe the kitchen, Santana reasons. Maybe she felt the need to change—they did sleep in their clothes from yesterday after all—or is taking a shower. Santana nods to herself as she pushes the cover completely off her body and slides her legs to the side, getting out of bed as she yawns. She pops a bone in her neck and winces, the sound always making her shudder. As she hears shuffling in the kitchen her ears immediately perk up and she's quick to walk to her door, pulling it open and looking towards the small area.

Her heart; fueled by hope mere seconds ago; drops to her stomach when she notices Aphasia, her grumpy expression replaced by woozy tiredness and a frown. Suzy is there too, large pinkish glasses giving her those huge eyes that never fail to freak Santana out, and wearing the brightest shade of pink under an oversized jumpsuit. Honestly Santana is no fashion expert, but she really could have lived on without ever seeing that frilly blouse with those washed out red overalls.

"Um, hi," she says, walking towards the cramped space with hesitation and joined hands. She fiddles with her thumbs nervously as Aphasia turns to look at her, but is surprised when she notices a small smile on her face. "You get some last night?"

Santana's eyes bulge. "What?"

Aphasia snorts. "Unless it's your hand that—"

"No!" Santana splutters. "I didn't, it wasn't, I m-mean… oh my god we weren't—"

"_We_?" Suzy suddenly perks up. She's smiling creepily while holding a wooden spoon, stirring some type of batter in a bowl. Santana sees four dark red peppers atop it and frowns helplessly. This is seriously worse than a cuckoo house.

"I wasn't with anyone…" she trails off awkwardly, trying to come up with a decent lie as she goes. Aphasia arching her eyebrow already tells her she won't believe a word she says though, so she sighs dejectedly. "It was just a date," she mutters.

"Oh a date," Suzy says, wonder in her tone. "Mr. Schuester and I have had lovely dates. So lovely. The wedding is in February."

"Oh dear papa," Aphasia mutters, walking away as she taps twice on her temple with her finger. Santana hears her door close and clears her throat as she reaches for the fridge. She notices that Suzy has her back turned, grinding her peppers by hand. It would be disturbing if Santana hadn't been a witness to this weirdness a few mornings already. She pulls out the carton of orange juice with a sigh, poring some in a glass and drinking it in one go. She wonders if Brittany likes orange juice… Santana would have to ask her next time she sees her.

But really… she's not sure when that'll be. With a hopeful intake of breath she tells herself Brittany probably had a class to intend. She knows some people have classes on Saturdays, or perhaps Brittany had to work early somewhere. Santana isn't sure if Brittany does work or not, but she reasons there _must_ be an explanation along those lines. She doesn't want to think about other possibilities that involve her screwing up yet another good thing in her life.

She sets the juice back in the fridge, frowning when she notices a new jar with one single piece of red pepper in it. "What's that one for?" She asks, unable to stop herself. She knows she shouldn't even wonder, but she can't help the curious question.

"A piece of the ghost pepper," Suzy answers, eying the jar without blinking.

Santana's nose wrinkles. "Why would you keep that?"

"Heartbreak," she answers, frozen smile in place. Santana blinks before she decides she definitely shouldn't have raised the question. That and her roommate is creepier than Bellatrix Lestrange and Lotso reunited.

(_What?_ She really hates that giant fluff ball okay. Plus his eyebrows remind her of Blaine Anderson and nothing good ever comes of that.)

With a forced nod Santana turns to her room and shuts the door behind her, trying to block out the sounds of grinding and clinking coming from the kitchen. She really should have left when Aphasia did.

She walks to her desk and plops down on her chair, wondering what she should do now that the kitchen is off limits for at least twenty minutes. She finds her answer when she notices her book of sketches on a corner of her desk, with her drawing of Brittany thrown on top. She smiles faintly at the thought of it making Brittany so… eager to kiss her. It had taken Santana aback in the best way possible, her thoughts wiped out as Brittany had lied on top of her.

Santana really hopes she didn't say anything that made her leave. She tries to convince herself she's right in thinking Brittany probably works on Saturdays, especially because she knows so little about her… she's always so curt in her answers or deflecting, so it's no wonder Santana has so much trouble piecing everything together. But maybe asking Brittany to hold her was a complete turn off, Santana thinks. Who goes from kissing and grinding to wanting to be held after all? It doesn't really make sense… does it? There's another possibility Santana doesn't want to explore; mostly because it's the one that she fears the most; but Brittany possibly not wanting someone as inexperienced as she is does make her stomach twist.

Santana sighs as she tells herself it's normal for Brittany to want sex. She's probably had dozens of relationships before, so why would she get stuck with a virgin who doesn't know the first thing about pleasuring someone else. Still… somewhere Santana is hoping she's far from the truth.

She glances at her phone on the floor and picks it up, the digital clock showing it's about 10:23am. Biting her bottom lip, she hesitates before her fingers type out a message for Brittany.

_10:25am: Hey, I had an amazing time last night, thank you for driving me there and for the food too. I hope we're okay… you left so soon this morning, I didn't even hear you. I guess you do have ninja skills :) Maybe we can see each other soon? Let me know. _

Santana presses send before she can over think the text. She leaves her phone on her bed, hoping for a response when she comes back from her shower.

* * *

After she's slipped on clean underwear and a plain grey t-shirt, Santana slides her fingers through her wet hair, trying to untangle the thick locks. She notices the steam on the mirror and quickly wipes it with her hand, sighing when her face goes from blurry to clear. She knows she shouldn't think like this, but she can't help wondering if this is the reason why Brittany left. She thought she looked pretty last night… wearing Quinn's top and a little bit of makeup, but today she can't bring herself to believe the same. Her skin is dark yet somehow sickly pale, a sure result of her not going out that often. She knows she ought to change that. Her eyes aren't a rich chocolate or a mysterious shade; they're just a boring brown, hollow and sometimes scarily black. Her lips are chapped, plump but slightly bruised by nervous biting teeth.

(Santana knows she really needs to knock that off.)

Brittany is a model out of a Vogue magazine (not that Santana reads Vogue or looks at pictures of models… except yeah that's a total lie) with the personality of a rock star and the brains of Lois Lane. There's no matching up to that.

Santana slips on a pair of jeans and brushes her hair as best as she can, leaving it to dry naturally as she hangs her towel and leaves the bathroom without a second glance at the mirror. She eagerly picks her phone up once she reaches her bed, only to put it back disappointedly when no new messages are displayed. It's only been about twenty minutes but it still stings. Instead of sulking she decides to sketch a few drawings, which reminds her that she needs to call Quinn so she can see the progress she made on their project, as well as return her top back—though she'll probably wash it before. Their work together is not something very elaborate; mostly an assignment that was meant to value teamwork and artistic diversity in a duo; but it's still something Santana wants to pull off well.

She decides to push the call back when her eyes fall on her drawing of Brittany again, giving her the motivation to pull out her sketchbook and one of her favorite pencils. It's one her father gave her when she was about 14 and though it's almost too short for her to hold it properly now, Santana can't bring herself to throw it away.

She focuses on the lines, rough at first but progressively more delicate as she envisions the details more acutely. She figures she ought to give her last drawing a companion—a super villain is much more of a threat with a sidekick after all. A darker skinned one perhaps, with hair as black as ink and sharp confident eyes, chin held high as lips curve into a proud smile. The woman is fierce but her eyes speak of pain, something she now uses to her advantage. With her other drawing, Santana imagined the woman being lethal; the villain everyone fears because no super hero is capable of taking her down. But this woman, in all her confidence, is more subdued. Like the brains of the operation, not the wit or the charm, though she does have her beauty. Yes, this is a girl for Brittany. Santana chuckles as she imagines Black Widow trembling in fear in front of _this_ badass.

There are no sleeves to her dark-red bodysuit, and Santana pauses as she finishes off the hands with fingerless gloves. She almost bites her lips but chastises herself when she remembers she needs to quit doing it. Feeling foolish at first, she hovers over the right shoulder before she draws a small beauty mark there. She drops the pencil as she looks at her work, feeling her hand cramp. Santana isn't sure how long she's been sketching but that's the best part about it.

After a minute of observing the girl, her shoulders slump as she tells herself this isn't her. This would never be her in a thousand years, and giving the drawing traits of her own doesn't make it any less true. She isn't a kickass sidekick or a powered up super villain. She'd even settle for being the super hero; the one that kids look up to because damn they're still pretty badass too; but she's just lost in the mass, unlike Brittany who always stands out as _someone_. If she didn't like her so much, Santana knows she'd probably have a bad case of the green-eyed monster.

(Deep down Santana knows that any version of her, in any universe, couldn't possibly _not_ like Brittany Pierce.)

She sighs and sets the drawing away, ignoring the feeling in her pit of her stomach telling her to stop being in such a self-depreciative funk. Her mom would be so pissed… and to be honest Santana is pissed at herself. Her plan was to move away from Bothell and start fresh, not repeat the same mistakes by bringing herself down all the time. Still, it's not like she didn't give herself a chance… her date with Brittany would have never happened if she hadn't gone to that party in the first place. The party where Brittany told her she _liked_ her, where she let slip that she thought Santana was indeed desirable and where she drove her to a place that made her feel bigger than anything and anyone.

Santana nods to herself as she thinks over each moment with Brittany, whisking away the idea that somehow she scarred her away yesterday. Brittany probably had work to do; that's it. Santana looks over at her phone and doesn't sigh when she sees no message, instead slipping it in her jean pocket and grabbing her bag. She won't stay in here sulking all day.

* * *

After grabbing an apple at the cafeteria, Santana decides to take the bus to the city and go see Kurt. He's already told her more than once that he'd love for her to see the clothing boutique he works at, calling it his 'pride and joy' even though the owner is apparently the grumpiest guy in Seattle.

It's a bit of a ride, the boutique situated in a smaller street that requires her to walk for about fifteen minutes after getting off the bus. Kurt insists that it's cozy chic, but Santana can see how much of an overstatement that was when she finally steps in front of the shop dubbed "A Tailor's Affair". She doesn't have to walk inside to notice how small it seems. Or maybe it's the two rather spacious stores surrounding it that make it seem so… cozy indeed.

When she pushes the door a bell rings over her head, so rusty it barely resonates. Her phone vibrates in her pocket right afterwards, which at first makes her wrinkle her nose thinking it's an odd thing coming from the bell. After realizing that's not logical, Santana twists her hand in her pocket and grabs her phone, looking at the message she just received with a pinch of hope.

_12:04pm [Quinn Fabray]: So how did it go? _

Santana doesn't let the disappointment settle when she realizes it isn't Brittany, typing back quickly instead.

_12:05pm: It went really well, thank you again for the top. I have to wash it and I'll give it back to you :) _

_12:06pm [Quinn Fabray]: Cool :) Wanna grab lunch in an hour? _

There are footsteps in the back of the shop and what seems like someone shuffling around, so Santana walks behind two racks of clothes neatly sorted by color before answering Quinn.

_12:08pm: Sure! Can we meet in the city? I know a good place; it's called The Constant on the 10__th__ Avenue, near that art store I told you about. _

Santana actually loves that place for their homemade quiches and lasagnas, their French-Italian food never failing to make her drool. Plus it's not that far from Kurt's shop, which gives her enough time to catch up with him before she has to meet up with Quinn.

_12:09pm [Quinn Fabray]: That's actually perfect; I'm in the city right now with my dad. See you soon! _

Santana tucks her phone in her bag this time, smiling widely when she sees the top of Kurt's head behind the stack of shoeboxes he's carrying. He sets them near the counter and goes to greet her, hugging her like they haven't seen each other in months. Santana giggles.

"What's with you?"

Kurt looks at her mischievously before making sure they're alone—though it's not hard to tell there are no customers in the small shop. He then looks coy as he shows Santana a ring on his left hand.

She gasps. "Oh my… is that?"

"Yep," Kurt nods, his feet almost bouncing off the floor. Santana is speechless though it's more out of fear of blurting out the wrong thing.

"But—I mean, with-… with _Sam_?" She asks, eyes still glued to the simple yet very elegant golden ring.

"Well yeah silly," Kurt grins, "do you really think I'd accept a ring from anyone? I mean I guess it _is_ debatable, especially if it were a Tiffany cut or—"

"No no no," Santana tries to rectify, "I just wasn't expecting it. I mean it's so soon after you guys have started… you know…"

Kurt chuckles. "You know that's what I told him yesterday… but then I thought it's a promise you know. It's not like we're flying to Vegas tomorrow. Oh God wait," Kurt zones out, "the horror of an unplanned wedding..."

He shakes his head. "Anyway, it felt… right. I don't know Santana, it always feels right with him. But we have time, we're not rushing anything else… we just thought it'd be nice to make the promise and see where it leads us."

"That's… really sweet, Kurt."

Admittedly, Santana's jaw is still on the floor and she's having a hard time processing the fact her two friends promised each other they'd eventually get hitched. It's weird and seems so soon, but Santana knows she has no reason to judge. She's never been in a relationship, though she hopes that maybe… perhaps… things with Brittany are headed that way, so she refrains from voicing her skepticism. Besides, she's always seen a bit of an old soul in Sam, and she's not surprised he's fallen so deep for Kurt and so fast.

Which only reminds her… she's a bit confused as to why he didn't tell her anything about it yesterday at the comic book shop or even send her a text after Kurt went to work this morning. Come to think of it, it's weird he hasn't sent her _anything_ this morning, considering he loves to bug her about tumblr posts or Sean Bean related things any time he's alone and bored. Santana has always told him Bean is nothing next to Connery, but over time she's grown to laugh at his attempt to change her mind. The fact she has no texts shouldn't worry her so much—he could be busy or finishing up assignments—but somehow she feels dread seep into her blood and freeze her bones.

"Everything all right?" Kurt asks.

Sam can't know about Sebastian's party, about Brittany… how would he? Plus wouldn't he have told Kurt? Santana swallows as she tries reasoning with herself. It's only her freaking out over nothing, she thinks, he was probably busy this morning. But then maybe… maybe he saw her and Brittany yesterday… the walking together, the car, the driving away…

Santana shakes her head. She has nothing to be ashamed about, she's old enough to make her own decisions and Sam isn't her brother, he's just _a friend you lied to_. Santana takes a shaky breath. She doesn't want to lose him over this, it's not fair.

"Hey," Kurt says, now more concerned. "Earth to Santana."

"I, what?"

"I don't know, you look like you're going to faint."

Santana blinks and pulls herself out of it. "Oh no I'm sorry, I just spaced out for a minute. I think I need to um, sit down or something."

Kurt nods, walking to the counter and motioning for Santana to sit behind it. It's really the only chair there is besides the one in the backroom with the rusty springs.

"So the shop looks nice," Santana says, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," Kurt sighs, "it's not much but the clothes are really good quality. Carl trusts me to handle his store most of the time so it's better than anything. Saturdays are just really slow around here, hence the lack of people."

"I figured," Santana murmurs.

"But hey Sam is supposed to be here really soon actually, so feel free to stay. At least we can try to liven up this joint a bit," he jokes.

Santana nods apprehensively. "That's cool…"

"Oh but don't mention classes to him, I didn't get the part in that play I told you about and I think Sam is more pissed about it than I am… and that's saying a lot."

Santana's eyes shoot up. "Really? But you were so sure you'd get it, what happened?"

Kurt sighs. "Well the female lead was chosen already and she managed to pull some strings to have her boyfriend be the male lead. She's actually really good, though she talks way too much, but the guy can't even coordinate his limbs to save his life and his voice is shaky at best."

"Aw I'm sorry Kurt… but I'm sure you'll get the next one."

"I'm not so sure, freaking Finchel think they're the stars on campus so I wouldn't be surprised if it happens again."

Santana frowns. "What the hell is Finchel?"

Kurt laughs before he bends down to carry the shoeboxes, muttering, "You are so lucky you don't know" as he walks towards the shoe racks.

Santana shrugs as he sets the boxes down and walks to the backroom, the door creaking a bit behind him. He disappears for a few minutes but Santana can hear him shuffling with other boxes and what sounds like hangers.

"I'll be out in two minutes," he calls out, his voice muffled.

Santana nods to no one but is quick to jump in her seat when she hears the bell and sees a flash of blond hair. She stands up and swallows, smiling at Sam when he notices her behind the counter. He frowns and his jaw clenches, walking towards her with a less than pleased look on his face.

Santana freezes as he questions her bitterly,

"Why the hell have you been hanging out with Brittany Pierce?"


	9. Chapter 9

The question is like a bullet shot through her chest, quick and painful and dulling her senses. Santana recoils, wondering for a second if a gunshot _did_ resonate. She realizes it's just the last vibrations of the old, dingy bell ringing through her ears, emphasized by the cold dread crawling up her spine.

"W-what?" She stutters, hoping that her brain will come up with some believable lie soon enough. She doesn't _want to_ lie to Sam again, but she also doesn't want to lose his trust. The situation is delicate enough as it is—and she realizes she shouldn't have baited the flames of this mess—but somewhere she feels a spark of anger at being so in the dark about everything.

"I bumped into Mike yesterday," he explains, eyes narrowed. "Says you and Brittany Pierce looked "cute" together. What the hell Santana?"

It's definitely not what she expected to be asked, but it does change things. Santana is grateful Sam wasn't actually the one to see her with Brittany, but then she remembers she met Mike at Sebastian's party and things could get out of hand very quickly if he were to know about that. It's already one lie too many, but she can't get herself to stop when she sees the confusion and anger in his eyes. _What could have Brittany possibly done_, she desperately wonders.

"W-we were just hanging out because she needed to… to interview me. Well I mean um, interview a freshman for her journalism class. And we bumped into each other at the... the library and she asked me, so that was just… I mean I couldn't say no."

Sam releases a shaky breath as his jaw clenches, green eyes looking at a blank spot on the floor. "Look, you just need to stay the hell away from her. I mean it, Santana," he presses.

Santana sees the way his eyes are desperate for her to listen, almost as if he wants to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her. She sees how his muscles are tense and his fingers twist the bottom of his shirt nervously. She sees it all and yet she can't bring herself to agree.

"What does that mean Sam? How can I understand if you won't tell me what she did to you that was so awful no one should even_ look_ at her. I just don't get it, she was nice to me you know… I… I think I might—"

"You _can't_ like her Santana," Sam cuts in harshly. "Fuck I can't believe…"

Santana frowns when she notices the desperation on his face, the normally soft lines turning into hard traits and saddened features. He looks so much older when he's like this, so much less like the shy comic book enthusiast that she first got to know. Even as he takes a deep breath to compose himself, Santana can feel the anger course through his veins. He's not mad at her though; that much is sure, but she's starting to think her persistent misunderstanding of the situation is irritating him. It's as if it pains him to even relive the thoughts that plague him now—_physically_ pains him.

"Hey," she whispers, her hand hesitantly resting on his arm. He flinches at first but relaxes when she squeezes him. "I didn't think it would upset you this much… I mean she asked me nicely and everything, I didn't see why I should refuse one small interview…" she lies.

"I know," he nods, understand her point. "It's just… I don't want to see you get hurt. We may not have known each other long, but I care about you Santana. And Brittany, her group… they're not good for you. For _anyone._ They're manipulative and selfish and trust me on this, Brittany _will_ twist her way into your head if she can, and when she does... you'll be damaged goods."

There's a pause before Santana nods wordlessly, her heart breaking at the way Sam describes Brittany. She's torn in between two opposites that both make her want to curl into a ball in the safety of her bed, one because her friend was clearly hurt and the other because the girl she can't stop thinking about is being described as a vicious, calculating person. Santana doesn't want to believe those words, ignoring the way her blood freezes as she repeats them in her head like a mantra... Brittany can't possibly be those things… can she?

"Did you two… did you date her… before you came out?" She asks, voice trembling.

His eyes snap back up. "No," he insists.

Santana opens her mouth to ask another question but is cut off by Kurt's footsteps in the backroom, alerting them both of his presence. Sam's face lights up at the sound and he offers Santana an apologetic look as he walks past her, his arm brushing over her shoulder. Santana stays still as she hears them behind her, her mind still replaying her conversation with Sam. She got so close to knowing more, to satisfying her curiosity regarding his anger fueled words and Brittany consistently changing topics when she tried to bring her friend up. She got so close yet so dangerously far… to a point where Sam looked pained to even think clearly enough. His eyes were begging her to understand something she wasn't even aware of. It makes her anxious, the feeling of the unknown always getting under her skin and making her squirm.

"Sooo," Kurt drawls out as he bursts from the backroom with Sam in toe, "we were thinking we could go have lunch soon, what do you say Santana? Wanna join us?"

Santana turns around at the sound of Kurt's voice, still deep in her thoughts. "Huh?"

Kurt smiles at her scrunched up nose. "Us three, lunch, what do you say?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure."

"Good, we were thinking about going to Gioni's—"

"Wait actually I have plans with someone," Santana shakes her head, finally clearing out her previous thoughts. "Maybe you guys could join us? She doesn't have a lot of friends…"

"Oh?" Kurt asks.

"Yeah, her name is Quinn, she's in my art classes. She's kind of guarded at first but if you give her a chance she's actually really nice."

"Quinn... why is that name so familiar?" Sam wonders aloud.

Santana clears her throat, remembering her lie when she was with him at the comic book store. "She was the girl I was texting yesterday."

"What? You were texting someone other than Sam or me? I am shocked," Kurt teases.

She hits him playfully on the shoulder, "Shut up."

"So wait a minute," Sam cuts in, a small smirk at the corner of his lips, "are you asking us on a double-date?"

Santana gasps, "No! Oh my god nothing is going on between us! I told you she's my friend."

The boys laugh at her flustered look. "Relax, I'm teasin'," Sam mocks.

"You are insufferable," she half-groans, half-smiles. She doesn't know if she should be relieved that their small argument seems forgotten, or frustrated that they'll probably never bring it up again. Her unanswered questions seem to taunt her now that Sam has apparently marked the topic as tabou.

* * *

It's a little over forty minutes later that they decide to lock up the shop for lunch, Kurt grumbling about getting his hands dirty as the bunch of keys from the store is rusty and weirdly greasy.

Santana and Sam chuckle as his face turns into a myriad of tense expressions, his tongue sticking out as he feels the key he's holding leave dark traces on his fingers. He shudders and Santana offers to keep the keys in her bag, preventing him from pocketing them with such a disgusted face.

"So where are we headed?" Sam asks, walking between Santana and Kurt.

"The Constant. It's not too far from Gioni's actually."

"Sounds good," Kurt nods, "but I won't be able to stay too long, one hour tops. I don't want Carl to show up and be locked out."

"Doesn't he have a spare?" Santana wonders.

"Nah," Kurt sighs, "he's way too cheap for that."

Sam chuckles and squeezes his hand. Santana averts her eyes as she notices the small gesture, focusing on her steps and then the street they have to cross. They walk in a comfortable silence until they reach The Constant, Santana spotting Quinn outdoor the small restaurant sipping on what looks like lemonade.

"Hey," Santana greets, startling her just a bit.

Quinn looks curiously at Sam and Kurt before her mouth curves into a polite smile. "Hi..."

"I hope you won't mind the small change of plans; these are my friends Kurt and Sam. Kurt is on his lunch-break so I thought it could be nice if we all ate together?"

"Oh um yeah, sure," Quinn nods, though a bit taken aback. She seems a bit embarrassed as she looks around. "We should find two chairs though, or we could go inside if you guys want...?"

"Nonsense," Kurt reassures her, "this is fine, we can get two chairs."

Santana offers to get a chair but Sam and Kurt stop her, grabbing two from another table and setting them opposite each other. They sit down and smile as the waiter notices them and brings over four menus.

"I love this place," Santana gushes animatedly, remembering the days she used to eat here with her mother and her father. Now that she looks back on those family dates she can see the small cracks in her parents' marriage, with moments of tension that used to fly over her head as a child. Nevertheless, the place is special to her and her fondness for it hasn't dimmed over the years.

"Yeah it's really nice," Quinn agrees.

"So um..." she continues, looking over Sam and Kurt hesitantly. "What do you guys study?"

Kurt beams. "Dramatic Arts."

Sam smiles and nods, "That too, but I'm going to switch to film and video next semester."

"Oh yeah I heard they have a great program for that," Quinn says.

"They really do, but I was hesitating so I went for dramatic arts first. Turns out it really isn't for me," he jokes.

"Well except for your badass impressions," Santana teases.

Sam blushes.

After the waiter takes their order and brings a basket of bread and a pitcher of water, they all settle in a comfortable discussion, with Quinn feeling much more at ease and relaxed. Sam and Kurt talk a bit about themselves as well as asking questions about Quinn's high school and family. She seems tongue-tied at first, not used to so much attention, much like Santana when she first met Sam and then Kurt. It takes less time for Quinn to delve into what she calls her boring past though, and by the time the waiter brings their food, she's already talking about her parents and how they were a bit disappointed with her study choices. Santana can hear the slight bitterness in her words, though she's impressed with the way Quinn seems so sure they'll come around eventually. Quinn is confident in her very own way, which only furthers Santana's theory that they really aren't so much different.

"My dad is actually in town right now and he didn't make faces when I talked about my classes, so you know... progress is progress," Quinn finally says.

Sam nods with a supportive smile. "Did he arrive this morning?"

"Yesterday evening actually; I saw him after I helped Santana pick an outfit."

Santana's eyes widen.

"An outfit for what?" Kurt chimes in.

Before she can stop herself, Santana kicks Quinn under her chair. "Ouh! What the hell Santana?"

"Sorry, sorry," she squeals, her mind running a marathon as she tries to find anything to change the conversation.

"Oh did you go somewhere yesterday?" Sam asks, frowning curiously at Santana's anxious behavior.

Quinn's eyebrows furrow.

Santana's eyes snap to hers, begging her silently not to say anything. Quinn frowns as she sees the desperation, looking over Kurt and Sam who are still witnessing the exchange with perplexed faces. "Um... my bad...," she starts, finding a cover up almost immediately, "I shouldn't have said anything..."

Santana looks down, feeling her ears burn._  
_

"Wait what's going on?" Sam questions, feeling concerned now that Santana seems so down.

"No really it's nothing," Quinn recovers, trying to brush off the topic. She wonders if Santana isn't out to her friends yet, and maybe that's why they don't know about her date with Brittany, but it seems odd that she'd be scared to come out to a gay couple. Besides, Santana doesn't strike her as the type to be ashamed of her sexuality, though she certainly isn't overly talkative about it either.

"Are you sure? Did something happen last night, Santana? You can tell us you know..." Sam says.

"No it's nothing," Santana insists, voice still panicked. "I was just... I had a...uh..."

"She was on her period!" Quinn blurts.

"What?!" Santana squeaks out, eyes bulging.

Sam and Kurt's faces both turn red.

"She was on her period and she... um, ruined her clothes, so we went to my dorm since it was closer and I helped her... pick a new outfit."

_Oh._

_My._

_God._

Santana's hands cover her eyes as she sets her elbows on the table. She can't believe Quinn just said that.

"Oh um... yeah okay," Sam says embarrassedly, "so uh... let's just um... finish our plates. Yeah good, okay."

It's only after five minutes of awkward silence that the conversation slowly begins again, Kurt not so subtly clearing his throat and asking about Santana and Quinn's art project. They talk naturally after that, the tense pause in the middle of their lunch slowly forgotten. After a while Kurt says he needs to get back to work and Sam tells him he'll accompany him. The boys pay for their share and leave Quinn and Santana who decided to stay a bit longer.

"Oh God," Santana finally breaks down, rubbing her temples as Quinn looks at her apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know they weren't supposed to... well that you hadn't told them you were seeing Brittany."

"No it's me, I was stupid, how could you have known... I feel like an idiot."

"Hey don't beat yourself up," Quinn reassures her, "after my little story I don't think they'll ask many private questions before a while."

They both chuckle awkwardly, not really wanting to be reminded of Quinn's hasty cover-up.

"Thank you though, I didn't know what to say."

Quinn shrugs. "That's what friends are for."

Santana nods thankfully, trying to veer off the conversation. "I'll give you your top back by the way, I just have to wash it before. But thank you again."

"Look... I know it's none of my business... but aren't Sam and Kurt your friends? Do they not know you're a lesbian or something?"

"Oh no, they know," Santana sighs. "It's just... they don't like Brittany. Like... at all. I think something bad happened between her and Sam... but I just can't figure out what. So I lied to him about the party too, and then yesterday... ugh everything is such a mess."

"Did you try to ask Brittany?" Quinn questions. "I mean she knows you're Sam's friend right?"

"Yeah she does, but she avoids the topic when I try to bring it up. I don't want to push it… I mean, I already feel like I pushed her away last night…" She murmurs, her fingers fiddling with the napkin on her lap.

Quinn frowns. "What happened?"

Santana hesitates before she sees the encouraging look on Quinn's face. She feels uncomfortable confessing something like that to her, but that's what friendship is about isn't it? Confessing the most embarrassing stuff and still having that person listening to you?

"We started, um… kissing on my bed, and then things went a bit... faster, but I told her that I'd never… well, done..._ it_ before."

Quinn looks surprised. "You're a virgin?"

"Y-yeah."

"Wow... I had no idea. I mean you're a great girl, anyone would be lucky to be with you."

Santana looks down, not wanting to delve into her inexistent string of relationships just now. "Well I never really found anyone, so..."

Quinn chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "You know I kind of envy you. You'd think sex is easy but it's actually way too complicated sometimes. It confuses everything."

"Really? What about you and Joe?"

"Well for a player he sure was a loser. I don't know what I was thinking, he was a crappy lay."

Santana's eyebrows come together. "So you're not dating?"

Quinn laughs. "Oh heavens no. Santana, it's okay to have fun casual sex you know, but it's also okay to be a virgin. You shouldn't feel ashamed about that. Did Brittany pressure you or anything?"

Santana shakes her head. "No actually she was kind of... freaked out? I asked her to stay and she did; it was really sweet actually, but I don't know... this morning she was gone and I haven't heard from her since."

"Well don't beat yourself up over it. If Brittany left because you weren't willing to sleep with her then she's not worth it, trust me."

"I guess you're right," Santana murmurs.

The rest of the day flies by smoothly, with both of them going back on campus together. They part ways in the housing facility and Santana sighs when she flops down on her bed. She checks her phone but let's it fall on the floor when her eyes fall on the empty inbox. She wonders if she should call Brittany but doesn't want to bother her if she needs time to herself or is just busy working. It's only been a day after all.

* * *

After a rainy Sunday and a torrential Monday, Santana gives up on hoping for Brittany to answer her. She gave in and tried calling her twice, one Sunday evening and the other Monday afternoon. It had beeped three times on Sunday before going to voicemail, and only once on Monday until Santana heard the indication to leave a message after the beep. She'd looked at her phone as if it were broken, feeling her heart crumble at the thought of Brittany avoiding her call.

It's only Tuesday that she feels her heart soar with hope again, the flash of blonde hair and the faint echo of a familiar laugh making her eyes snap up from the ground. She's on campus, walking on the small path that leads to the dorm rooms, when she sees Brittany for the first time since Friday.

She can't help smiling from ear to ear.

She notices Brittany isn't alone though, surrounded by Mackenzie and three other girls she doesn't recognize. Her eyes catch Mackenzie's involuntarily and she hesitates as she sees the wide smirk on her face. Mackenzie whispers something then, making Brittany turn around and lock eyes with Santana. It's all too familiar to the time Santana was caught staring in the cafeteria, but this time she doesn't back down.

She takes a deep breath before walking towards the group, smiling politely but nervously when Brittany looks at her curiously.

"Hey... can we talk?" She shyly asks.

She hears one of the girls snort and cackle obnoxiously with another but pays it no attention, not once breaking eye contact with Brittany.

"Yeah..." Brittany says, so obviously troubled yet willing enough for Santana to feel relieved.

"Don't forget us Britt-Britt," Mackenzie drawls out, tone mocking. Santana can't shake off the idea that she seems to be gloating about something, like she knows something Santana doesn't and is using it to make her feel inferior.

Santana can't help but remember Sam's words then; Mackenzie does seem like the despicable type, and the other girls don't seem much nicer. But Brittany isn't like that, she reasons... she's never looked down on her once.

They walk until they reach a tree that blocks them from the view of the group. Brittany leans against it with a torn expression on her face, her eyes now running away from Santana's gaze. Santana opens her mouth but realizes all the words she knows are stuck in her throat, prompting her to lift her hand and try to reach for Brittany's arm. Brittany flinches though, looking at her with a hardened expression.

Santana bites her lip, pulling her hand back and griping one of the belt loops of her jeans. "How are you? I tried calling…"

Brittany swallows, her eyes shifty. "Yeah, I know. I was... busy."

"Oh. Well that's okay... did you have a nice weeke—"

"Look Santana," Brittany cuts her off, hand toying with the hem of her t-shirt, "friday was great and all... really it was, but it was a one time thing, all right?"

Santana's lips part. "I don't understand..."

"I told you I don't date, it's not who I am. So let's just forget it, okay?"

Santana's brows come together, her face split between confusion and hurt. "Forget it? But I thought—I thought you meant…"

"Is it because of what happened?" She continues, feeling her throat close up on her words. "When w-we—"

"No," Brittany cuts her off.

Santana feels her heart pound faster and her palms grow moist as she tries racking her brain for answers.

"I just know this won't work. You're better off without me Santana, maybe you can date that little friend of yours. Quinn."

"What?" Santana chokes out, frowning disbelievingly at Brittany's words. Why is she so cold? She's never seen her eyes so grey, sharp and hard. "I—I don't like Quinn that way, and she's straight. Brittany I don't understand where this is coming from, I thought... you said you liked me," she whispers.

"I _did_," Brittany presses. "I thought you were different from all the others, that you didn't care about the talks, or the looks. That got to me, and I figured maybe you were worth a shot. But turns out you're not careless, you're just cautious; so scared of being judged that you can't even be yourself. That drawing you did... I can't live up to that girl Santana; live up to your expectations. And guess what? You can't live up to mine either. You're just not enough."

Santana's heart squeezes painfully as her eyes blur, tears threatening to fall. She doesn't understand the bitter harsh words; they seem rehearsed and false, nothing like the Brittany she thought she got to know. She won't cry though; she _can't_ cry in front of Brittany.

"But no, I- I can get better, it's just I never had anyone care for me like that before and I got overwhelmed, I'm sorry I—"

"Don't," Brittany deadpans, her fingers griping at the bottom of her shirt harder. It's everything she can do to avoid pulling Santana close. "Don't do that. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

She sighs as Santana's mouth opens but no words come out. "Bye..." she murmurs, turning around and forcing herself to walk away.

"No," she hears.

Brittany turns back around after taking two steps. "No?"

"No I don't believe you," Santana whispers. "I know you meant the things you said last week... You brought me to that place, with the fireflies... you told me about your family, you held me against you, it wasn't... it _meant_ something. I know it did, you can't..." she panics, "you can't just spend a week making me fall in love with you and then tell me you didn't feel anything."

Brittany freezes. "Fall in... Santana, you don't mean that. You _can't_ say that for fuck's sake. You don't even..."

"What are you doing with them?" Santana pushes, walking towards Brittany with her fists clenched. She can feel herself go numb and her bones shake with anger, thoughts of high school and deceit and _lies, lies, lies_, all pilling up. She forgoes any form of rational thinking because it never did her any good. "Did they push you to do this? Make fun of me? Because I was made fun of before, I don't care Brittany, I can take it. I can take it if you're honest with me. Don't lie by telling me you were never honest... I may be clueless with how relationships work but I'm not stupid. You felt it too."

"No," Brittany stammers, feeling her words get stuck in her throat. It's like someone put a noose around her neck and is slowly pushing the knot, chocking her slowly. "I h-have to go," she says, turning around and walking fast, not bothering to wait for Mackenzie and the others girls.

Santana lets herself break down for a minute, the hope she felt when she saw Brittany crashing down and melting into cutting hurt. She can't feel her legs anymore and her glasses seem useless if her eyes can't even blink away the tears properly. She tries swallowing but her mouth is dry and her throat feels itchy, irritated by the large intakes of breath she takes to calm herself.

Soft, cold drops of drizzle fall down all around her, the thick branches of the tree sparring her being wet for a minute or two. She breathes in a calmer, more composed breath before she starts walking again, not even caring if the path ahead looks blurry.

She's pushing the door to her room less than 5 minutes later, fighting the urge to crawl under her cover and pass out. She knows she'll smell Brittany on the pillow if she does.

She scoffs at herself; feeling damn stupid and naive for the words she sputtered outside. She can't believe herself... one week meeting one person who shows an interest in her and she's in love? She wants to scream at herself.

And she does, almost, when she spots the drawing of herself wearing a cape and a proud smirk. She grabs it and rips it up, throwing the pieces on the floor before she crashes down on her bed to muffle her cries. She knows she shouldn't, but she hasn't cried in so long that everything starts coming back to her. The way Zizes would tell her she's worthless, the way Puckerman would tell she'd never attract anyone with _that face, those glasses, those clothes_. The way the cheerleaders would move so gracefully while she always felt heavy and slow in gym class, her competitive side overshadowed by her clumsiness. She throws her glasses on the floor and shuts her eyelids tight, begging for the tears to stop.

When her ears buzz and three knocks resonate, she's not sure if she's fallen asleep and is already dreaming or if the world just wants to kick her ass a bit more. Still she can't help the way her heart pounds, hoping maybe Brittany will be behind the door. Instead, her eyes meet Aphasia's solid gaze.

"Gurl you're a mess," she states, looking Santana up and down.

Santana would almost laugh if she didn't feel like throwing up. The situation is so absurd she doesn't even care if Aphasia thinks she's madder than the mad hatter. "You don't say," she replies, sarcasm breaking through her usually calm voice.

It makes Aphasia smirk. "I like your sass."

"Now come here," she continues, opening her arms.

"What?" Santana frowns as she sniffs her nose.

"Look this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I ain't going to hug your sorry ass ever again, so you better take this."

Santana laughs low, the sound a raspy mess instead of an actual laugh, and hesitantly wraps her arms around Aphasia's back.

"Now you listen to me Santana Lopez, you're a strong girl, you don't take shit from anyone."

Santana smiles but doesn't really listen, her ears still buzzing with words that cut deep and Brittany's last goodbye. It feels so strange, being in Aphasia's arms like this, but the bone crushing hug reminds her of her mom and how she misses her, so she stays still, enjoying the gesture.

"What's your home town anyway?" Aphasia asks out of the blue.

"Bothell," Santana whispers, not bothering to understand the question.

"Well, next time anyone brings you down you tell them that," Aphasia trails off. "You tell them I'm Santana Lopez and I'm from Bothell Heights Adjacent. I have razorblades all up in my hair so you better get outta' my grill or cosas malas _will_ happen."

Santana laughs out loud through the last of her tears and nods, liking how Aphasia is so over the top and dramatic. Somehow she's exactly what Santana needs right now, using her words to comfort her—albeit maybe sillily—instead of hurting her. She smiles slowly before she whispers, "That sounds completely insane, but thank you."


End file.
